


Love Me Like The Sunset

by sweetlullabies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A Lot Of Chaos, Action/Adventure, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Exes, Famous Louis Tomlinson, Fugitives, Illegal Activities, Kissing, M/M, Summer, but nothing too harsh they're still pure uwu, louie and harrie basically have a lot of problems they need to solve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 99,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlullabies/pseuds/sweetlullabies
Summary: Harry lets his shirt all the way down as he remains on the ground, resting his elbows against his knees.  He creases his eyebrows and just stares at the boy, simply letting him know how utterly over this he is.  The boy has all these people surrounding him, tapping at his shoulder and begging for his attention—pop news outlets think he’s gonemissingfor goodness’ sake, yet here he is, pleading for Harry to talk to him, and forwhat?“C’mon,” Louis continues, his voice coming back down gently.  “I’m here for a few days.  Might as well let me take you out.”At that, Harry decides on exactly what he needs to do in this moment.Harry desires nothing more than to live a somewhat okay life, free of charming celebrities who break his heart, so it makes sense when life grants him the exact opposite of that.





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! welcome to the new fic i've finally finished, and i hope you enjoy reading. there isn't much to warn you about this fic besides the fact that it escalates a lot and you should just get ready for...a bunch of crazy things to happen. louis is like a famous kylie jenner type and harry is just a simple guy who wants to be left alone. 
> 
> i imagined louis to look like [this](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/32300000/Louis-Tomlinson-2012-one-direction-32393783-1441-1600.jpg) and harry to look however you want him to.
> 
> for each chapter i've chosen a song in order to set the tone, and it'd be super cool if you guys checked them out! happy reading!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter: sadderdaze - the neighbourhood ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytx9P29Sz98))
> 
> ~

 

 

“This was _supposed_ to be lemon.”

Harry had been hunched over against the wooden countertop, his chin in his hands as he’d been halfheartedly enjoying the fact that people weren’t approaching the stand as frequently as they normally would on a torturously boiling day such as today.

Even though he has sunglasses on, he still has to squint a bit as he tilts his face up only slightly at the guy who has approached him, the man’s plastic slushy cup shoved toward his face as Harry huffs boredly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be anything,” Harry replies monotonously.

“Well when you said yellow, green, or red, I just _assumed_ yellow meant lemon, and _not_ banana!” the guy says, his cup still positioned in front of Harry’s face as his sand-stained, damp hair flops over his forehead.  Just looking at him in all his shirtless grandeur, straightened back, and entitled demeanor as though he’s deserving of everything, Harry just _knows_ he’s one of those frat boys who are currently peaking in college.  He _knows_ it.

“I want a refund,” he continues.

“We don’t do refunds,” Harry replies, cocking his head to the side as he remains hunched over where he is.  “Plus it was only a dollar, so.”

“Excuse him,” Jace says, his attention obviously having been ripped away from the hotdog orders he had been preparing just a few feet away from Harry.  He comes up next to Harry, scooting him out of the way as he takes the guy’s slushy and proceeds to cater to his every need and whine and annoying superiority complex.  Harry tunes out all of it as he finds his place somewhere else and aches for this shift to be over.

He doesn’t get very far though, due to the fact that this is probably The World’s Tiniest Beach Concession Stand and no matter where he moves, he’s always going to be within five feet of whoever else is working.  He can still hear the irksome murmurs of the College Guy complaining about his “poor customer service” as he slides his back down against one of the counters and settles into the sand, the never-ending combined scent of grilled hotdogs, nacho cheese, and frozen beverages thick around him.

The _idea_ of this job had seemed somewhat compelling when Harry had been looking for some way to make use of himself during the summer.  All it’s given him in actuality is a newfound hatred for tight spaces, a disgust for hotdogs, and an annoyance for the shrieking teenagers laughing with each other at the beach right after giving him attitude at the concession stand.

The small television hung up high upon the corner of the stand (which is there for the entertainment of people who want to sit nearby or whatever), procures just a little bit of Harry’s attention as he remains where he is on the ground—but that’s only because he hears that _certain_ three second pop beat sprout from it.  The three second pop beat that can _only_ indicate that Star TV is about to start blabbering on about something going on within pop culture that no one cares about.  It’s because of _this_ thing that he knows what the Kardashians are up to, what brand of shoelace is trending, who’s hosting some upcoming award show—all things he really shouldn’t know.

Harry only turns his head towards it so he can see what stupid thing they’re going to talk about today.

“Young star and socialite Louis Tomlinson has yet _another_ public outburst—“

Pretty quickly, Harry attempts to bring his eyes away, but it doesn’t take long before they’re wandering back, now looking at the blonde female reporter speaking purposefully as photos of a hooded Louis flicking off paparazzi play on a slideshow behind her.

“—throwing things, yelling expletives.  He’s since gone M.I.A. after the incident, but the question still stands.  _Will_ this diva ever get his act together and live up to his mother’s name?  More when we come back.”

Harry blows air out through his nose as he rests his head back against the surface of the counter.  “Is there any way to change this?” Harry asks, gesturing lazily at it as he looks pointedly at where Jace is rested against the front counter, looking forth toward the beach.  “I can’t remember a time where it wasn’t on this channel.”

All Jace does is shrug, his face sinking into his hands due to what Harry is pretty sure is sweat.  He’s sweating too himself, and his thin t-shirt is just about glued to his chest.

When Star TV _does_ come back from commercial break, Harry makes a point of physically covering his ears and keeping his head down between his knees.

Once that time finally comes around, when the sun is halfway down, the sky is purple, and there can only be a few people found wading in the water nearby and laying upon colorful beach towels in the sand, Harry finds himself having finished another day of work, and he’s locking up the gate behind himself as he pushes his sunglasses into his hair.

He grabs his small bag from where it hangs by a nail just outside of the gate entrance of the stand, and he works in order to pull his linen sweatshirt out of it, preparing to slide it on over his work t-shirt.  It always gets chillier late in the day.

After that’s done, he’s zipping up his bag, sliding his arms into both straps of it, and beginning on his journey towards where he lives, his head down and his hands buried in the depths of his shorts.

It’s only a fifteen minute walk, anyway. 

He first has to get past the endless sand of the beach and hope nothing sinks into his shoes, and then he has to walk upon the sidewalk that leads to the city, cross several streets in hopes of not getting hit by a car (or maybe that wouldn’t be too bad?) and traverse up the steep road as he nears his apartment complex.  He keeps his sweat-beaded head mostly down through all of it, watching his shoes drag against the ground and not really caring for the sunset.

When he’s finally finished with the three flights of stairs he has to walk in order to get around to sticking the key in his front door, his energy level is at zero, which is sad even for him.

He doesn’t even fully turn his attention toward Liam once he enters, because he can hear the EDM playing on the radio, along with the grunting, and he knows he’s having one of his intense workout sessions in the living room as Harry slips his leather bag off and hangs it upon the front door knob.

“There you are,” Liam says, Harry finding him in a solid push-up position once he glances toward him.  He’s sweating greatly, his biceps are almost like something out of a magazine as his muscle shirt hangs off of him, and he’s smiling.  “Except you’re like—“ he glances at the digital clock on the radio sitting next to him “—four minutes late.  You okay?”

“As okay as I’m able to be,” Harry replies, his eyes blinking tiredly.  “I was probably just walking slower.  It’s kinda weird that you’re getting worried over four minutes, though.”

“That’s because you always come home at the exact same time every day.”

Harry only offers half a nod as he kicks his feet against the ground, already having his mind set on going to his bedroom.  “That’s what happens when you do the same thing every day, I guess.”

“You make a good point,” Liam says, finally releasing himself from push-up position and sitting up with his palms leaned behind him, taking a moment to breathe.  “You should try switching it up sometime by exercising with me.  You seem like you have _tons_ of endorphins that are just waiting to be released.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he settles with his back against the kitchen counter, his hands still rested in his pockets as he shakes his head at Liam.  “What does that even mean?”

Liam’s just about to offer an answer when whatever station he’d been listening to cuts to commercial, and the first thing that’s being said loudly and annoyingly—now with a _male_ voice—is Louis’ full name, once _again_.

Harry strokes his palm over his forehead as Liam listens, the guy basically telling the same story Harry had heard earlier today, and all Harry can do is wonder why Liam is still listening to radios in this day and age anyway.

“God, what a pompous asshole,” Liam says once they cut to the next commercial, the boy bringing his water bottle up to his lips and taking several gulps.  He wipes his mouth with his wrist before moving in order to get back in position to do probably a thousand more pushups.  “He’s just one of those celebrities who are famous for doing nothing.  Absolutely sick of hearing about him all the time.”

“Well,” Harry replies, letting out another one of his exhausted breaths that he probably releases about ten times a day.  “I’m gonna go to bed,” he says, already lazily moving his feet in the direction of his bedroom.

“Already?  You’re not gonna eat?” Liam asks, not missing a beat as he continues to pump his arms.  “Watch Big Brother with me?”

Harry shrugs halfheartedly as he’s nearing the hallway, offering Liam an empty grin over his shoulder.  “No appetite, and uh…maybe we’ll watch it some other time.”

And with that, he approaches his bedroom at the end of the hall and lets himself in, finding himself having successfully dodged another evening of Liam trying to get them to do stuff together.  Sometimes Harry’s up for it though—but more times than not, he isn’t, and it’s not because he hates Liam, or anything of the sort.  He’s just often short of energy and the motivation to be present for the outside world.

He closes the door behind him once he enters his bedroom, the almost-darkness of the room making him begin to feel _actually_ tired instead of metaphorically tired.

He finds himself letting his back fall against the messy sheets of his bed, the breath gently getting knocked out of him once the contact is made, and he brings his palms up to his head as he takes some time to himself.

Even in the still darkness, Harry notices that there’s a lot of dust littering his ceiling fan.  Maybe he should get around to dusting it sometime.  Is that something that people do?

So.  He’s gotten through another day of this, just like he did yesterday, just like he did the day before, and just like he’s going to do tomorrow.  This is good.  Being productive and organized and living with some sort of schedule.  This is nice.

He can still hear the muffled sounds of bass-heavy techno music coming from the living room where Liam continues to grunt.  Where does the man _get_ all that energy exactly?  Jesus Christ.

He lets his eyes rest as he thinks about how he’ll just do this all over again come tomorrow, and it’ll be fine.

And it is.

In the morning, at the break of nine a.m., he’s actually shutting off the alarm on his clock before it even gets the chance to make a sound.  His head is still buried within the pillow though, his hair strands flooding his cheeks and mouth as he keeps his hand rested on the clock and decides he isn’t ready for the sunlight to blind him just yet.

Eventually he does slide out of bed, as everyone does at some point, succumbing to the fact that there are tedious things to do in between the time one wakes up in the morning and the time one goes back to sleep at night.

He spends a considerable amount of time in the shower with his head simply pressed against the wall, allowing the water to wash over him until he begins to feel the pads of his fingers pruning up.  He does this a lot, however—today it just happened to go on for a bit longer than usual.

His hair repeatedly sticking to his face annoys him more than it usually does as he gets ready (even though it had already been putting him on edge now that he works outside and it sticks to him everywhere it pleases), and he really needs to cut it, honestly.  He’s been thinking that for a while.

His head is down once again as he takes the walk back to the beach near his apartment, his sweatshirt on over his work shirt so no one has to know where he’s headed, his black lenses over his eyes, and his small backpack strapped to his back as the sun once again asserts its dominance. 

It’s a pretty regular day at work again—even though Harry’s just a tad more comfortable now that the television’s somehow been changed to something else as it shows a sitcom on some children’s channel.  He assumes it’s Jace that’d done it, but he doesn’t get to thank the man due to the fact that Jace is walking along the shore, offering everyone pretzels on a stick.

It’s not too busy today because of the fact that little patters of rain have started coming down within one hour of Harry showing up, but of course, Harry still has to deal with a handful of headache-inducing beach people who can’t be considerate of the fact that he’s already miserable doing this job.

He’s just finishing up wiping down the back counter due to the fact that he’d accidentally spilled the bucket of nacho cheese (which Jace had so randomly put in a different place higher up), when there’s another order being spoken at him.

“I’d like a slushy, please.”

Harry’s a millisecond away from asking what kind, as he usually does automatically—but it only takes him _another_ millisecond to register the familiarity of the voice that had said the words. 

Harry looks over his shoulder, finding a figure leaned with their elbows against the counter, the person wearing a navy blue hoodie that’s three sizes too big, the hood over their head so that their face is barely peaking under it, hands drumming at the surface where the tips of their fingers are barely past the sleeves.

They kind of just stare at each other for a few seconds, the boy’s lips slowly creeping upward on each side, and Harry simply blinking.

“Hi cupcake,” he says, tilting his head to the side a bit.

Harry slings the rag that he’d been using to wipe down the counter over his shoulder, taking only one step toward the man as he clenches his jaw halfway.

“What are you doing here?” he asks tightly.

The boy’s mouth goes agape for a moment, his hands gesturing forth as though the answer should be obvious.  “I’m visiting you of course, dummy.”

Harry continues to stand there, the cool air of the beach swirling between them as the rain continues to fall almost unnoticeably.

He keeps on talking when he figures Harry’s not going to say anything else (which is correct).  “I know, I know, you’re probably all _how did he find out where I work_ and stuff,” he begins, reaching into the small plastic container set upon the countertop that contains peppermints.  He toys with the clear wrapper in order to get one open as he speaks.  “I mean, you blocked my number, so asking around about you and figuring out what you’re up to was all I could really do.”  He pops the peppermint into his mouth, his eyes gently staring into Harry’s as he still continues to wear that stupid, smug grin.

There are a lot of things Harry could do right now.  There are a lot of things he could think too, even though right now, he can’t discern any of his thoughts because of how they’re all happening at once.  None of his thoughts are good, however, and that’s the only thing he’s sure of.

Harry turns back toward the slushy maker, grabbing one of the plastic cups from the dispenser next to it.

“Yellow, green, or red?” he asks, his back turned to the boy as he sets the cup down against the counter.

“C’mon Harry, don’t be like this—“

“Yellow, green, or red?” he asks again, a harsh edge to his voice now.

 “ _Uh-oh_ …” the boy sings quietly.  “He’s ticking.  There goes my little time bomb.”

Harry fights the urge to clench his jaw some more as his nails struggle to grasp onto the flat wooden countertop.

He whips around, finally looking at the boy again and hoping his sunglasses shield how much it’s taking for him not to snap right now.  “So no slushy?  Because someone’s behind you and I’d love to actually do my job.”

The boy frowns, continuing to look ridiculously innocent from underneath his hoodie (it’s ridiculous because innocent is the exact opposite of what he is).  “Harry.  Why are you doing this?  I just wanna _talk_ to you.”

Harry finally approaches the counter, leaning his palms against the edge and definitely not hunching over in order to come face to face with him—he’d much rather remain above him.  “And _I_ just wanna do my job, but you’re getting in the way of that.”

“Isn’t part of your job pleasing customers?” he asks, the question pressed into his fist as he raises his eyebrows at Harry teasingly.  The peppermint in his mouth faintly pushes at the side of his cheek as he continues to suck on it.

Harry takes a moment to move air in and out of his nose as he maintains a grip on the countertop, the line behind the boy now growing as three more people approach. 

“Louis.  Can you please stop.”  It’s obviously a question, but he lets it flow out in the form of a weary exhale.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“And why are you even wearing that get-up?” Harry asks, still keeping his voice as calm as he can manage.  “I’m pretty sure no one here gives a shit about who you are anyway.”

Louis huffs as he blinks at Harry, Harry guessing he’s finally gotten to him as he blinks right back.

Then, Louis grips the fabric of his hood, slowly sliding it off of his head as he shrugs his right shoulder.  “I guess you’re right…” he begins, the girl behind him in line immediately taking notice as she does a double-take in the midst of talking to her friend.  “I was just looking out for _you_ , really,” Louis continues, mussing his hair up a bit as he grins sadly at Harry, people already beginning to approach the scene from different areas of the beach as it seems they’re receiving the signal from other people about who is here.

Harry backs away from the counter, not even aware that he’s holding his breath as his eyes are now met with a bunch of phones being whipped out in order to take pictures with flash and record whatever they can, and his ears are met with a rising sound of excitement among the people of the beach as they make their slow arrival to the scene.

He finds himself pulling the collar of his shirt up over his face as he backs up all the way to the opposite end of the stand (which isn’t even very far), feeling anxious of how many phones are pointed in his general direction and he hates cameras and being on camera and seeing himself and attracting attention and Louis _knows_ this—

“Now, what were you saying?” Louis asks, leaning over the counter just a bit as Harry sinks into the sand, just like the day before, in a poor attempt to hide from the world.

He didn’t know it was possible to feel more crammed than when he’s just standing in this concession stand, but he discovers it is _very_ possible as he continues to live with his face inside his shirt, listening to the sounds of people calling for Louis and encompassing the concession stand and snapping pictures.

“Guys, guys please,” he hears Louis say, the sound muffled from where Harry stays on the ground.  “My friend’s kinda shy about photos, so it’d be lovely if you could put a hold on them for the next few minutes.  Please?  I’ll set aside time for pictures later, promise.”

There’s a sound of general agreement among everyone, accompanied by just a few _awww’s_ that Harry can hear if he listens closely, but he’s still not sure about bringing himself out of this sand anytime soon.

He lifts his fingers in order to grip the material of his t-shirt so he can pull it down just enough to expose his eyes, and he finds Louis still there, leaned over the countertop as he beams down at him.  He can’t see the backside of a phone anywhere in sight as people still remain near, so that’s a little better.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he begins, his words pressed against the shirt.  “What are you doing here?”

“What are any of us doing here, really?” Louis asks, drumming his knuckles against the surface as his eyes wander curiously and his tongue tosses the shrinking peppermint around in his mouth.  “All life _is_ is a bunch of running around, making connections with as many people as we can before we have to check out.  I wish I knew the answer to why we’re here,” he continues, faking thoughtfulness as he scratches his chin.  “If I _do_ find the answer, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

Harry lets his shirt all the way down as he remains on the ground, resting his elbows against his knees.  He creases his eyebrows and just stares at the boy, simply letting him know how utterly over this he is.  The boy has all these people surrounding him, tapping at his shoulder and begging for his attention—pop news outlets think he’s gone _missing_ for goodness’ sake, yet here he is, pleading for Harry to talk to him, and for _what_?

“C’mon,” Louis continues, his voice coming back down gently.  “I’m here for a few days.  Might as well let me take you out.”

At that, Harry decides on exactly what he needs to do in this moment.

“Red,” he says simply, before pushing himself up off of the ground and heading for the slushy machine once again.

“What?”

“That’s the kind of slushy you want,” Harry replies as he pushes the lever in order to get the icy beverage to shoot into the cup.  He fills it to the brim as the sounds of everyone continuing to talk and crowd the concession stand only fuels him even more.

“Why do you assume I want red?”

Harry turns around toward Louis, cup in hand as only the tiniest grin pokes at one small corner of his mouth.  “Because that’s the color that’s hardest to wash off,” he says, before stepping toward the boy and turning the cup completely upside down as he holds it over his head.

There’s a collective gasp from everyone around as the drink splashes over Louis’ head and down upon his clothes, dampening his oh-so-perfect hair and cascading down his trademarked face as he takes a moment to spit some of it out.  Harry _is_ a little stunned, however, at the fact that Louis had barely budged.

Yeah, he’s going to have to wipe the sticky counter after this, _and_ answer to Jace as to why he did this to a valued customer, _and_ be fired—but right now, it feels _so_ worth it.

“I saw that coming,” Louis says after a while of silence.

“Then I’m surprised you didn’t dodge it.”

Louis moves hair away from his face as he runs his fingers through it, turning his back to the stand as he leans against it, now appearing to address everyone who has gathered around.

“Who wants slushies?” he asks, way too cheery for a person who has just gotten an ice cold drink dumped on them.  “Free slushies?  Anyone?”

An uproar of approval ensues as Louis seems to relish all of it, Harry growing pissed at where this is headed. 

“ _Everyone_?” Louis asks, and there’s even more acclamation. 

Harry’s certain there’s not a single person by the ocean right now.

Louis turns back around toward Harry, his thumb between his teeth as he continues to grin smugly.  “Then there’s that,” he says, before throwing his hands up and speaking loudly enough for his words to be heard by all.  “Slushies for _everyone_ , on me!”

The gate behind Harry swings open as Jace clearly hurries to re-enter the concession stand, the man dropping his stick of pretzels in the sand without a thought before working in order to see how many plastic cups he can fit in one hand.

“We’ll get right on that Louis—uh, Mr. Tomlinson, sir,” he begins, Harry rolling his eyes through all of it and thoroughly ticked off.  Jace glances behind himself and towards Harry as he works in order to fill a cup, the sound of people shouting what flavor they want into the open air continuing in the background.  “Harry, don’t just stand there,” he says over his shoulder.  “We have _tons_ of orders to fill.”

And.

Harry hates Louis.  He seriously and truly does.

As soon as he reaches the slushy station, he nearly crushes the first plastic cup he reaches for.

 

~*~

 

Harry is tired.  Physically, this time around.

He’d only had about two hours left when Louis had shown up, but somehow, those two hours managed to seem infinitely prolonged.

Louis had gotten swamped with photos and fans and being the celebrity “socialite” (whatever that means) that he is as soon as the slushies were starting to be given out, so that at least gave Harry the opportunity to sneak away when his shift was over (okay, a little before it was over), without Louis noticing and attempting to follow him.

In reality, that won’t matter anyway, because Louis, someway and somehow, is going to find out where he lives.

Because the people in this city talk too much.

So he figures there’s nothing he can do about that as he finds himself trudging up the stairs of his apartment complex again, his backpack and sweatshirt on, his sunglasses tucked in his collar, and his fists curling up at his sides every few seconds.

“Right on time,” is the first thing he hears once he’s locking the front door and moving in order to hang his bag against the knob once again.

All Harry does is sigh, not even turning his head toward Liam, but hearing the sound of the guy crunching on what are probably his seaweed chips as the man sits reclined in front of the television.

“Rough day?” Liam asks, obviously sensing Harry’s quieter demeanor.

Harry’s feet are killing him more than usual today, and he finds himself slipping off his sneakers foot by foot before he can even reach the hallway, taking the time to acknowledge Liam.  “It was super busy today,” he begins, picking up both his shoes with one hand.  “Got a lot of orders wrong.”

He begins in the direction of his bedroom, shoes in hand as he speaks over his shoulder.  “See you tomorrow.”

Once he’s finished closing the bedroom door behind himself, dropping his shoes on the floor, and staring blankly at his room again, the walls dark, the sun almost down, and the air conditioner barely humming as it remains quiet, he can’t help but wonder how things can become so different in one day while other things remain the same.

He walks over to sit on the edge of his bed near the nightstand, not bothering to turn a single light on as he rests his arms against his knees and takes the time to breathe.

He doesn’t spend much time on that, however, before reaching for one of his stray pillows and bringing it up to his face, pressing his nose deep into the cushion and fighting the urge to scream, as well as the urge to suffocate himself.

Well, if he _were_ to suffocate himself he would at least be unconscious for a few hours and not have to deal with these thoughts and problems and stuff, so maybe he shouldn’t write that one off so soon.

He’d known.

As soon as he heard the female reporter say the words _M.I.A._ and _Louis Tomlinson_ in the same breath, he’d known the boy would be here soon.

He just doesn’t understand _why._

It’s what he always does; wedges his way into whatever’s going on in Harry’s life at the moment and just runs through it like a loose elephant at a zoo.  Harry doesn’t know what he fucking wants—he’d _thought_ he’d known at one point in time, but he’d clearly been wrong.

Louis had everything, they both had everything, together, and it was _Louis_ that singlehandedly ruined it all, so Harry would love it if he could stop trying his hand at whatever the fuck he keeps barging in on his life for.

He hadn’t even noticed he’d been sniffling, his pillow now gently rested in his lap as he fights tears and sets his teeth upon his bottom lip.  The only thing that gets him to realize this is the fact that he hears the sound of his door cracking open.

Harry turns his head toward the sound, Liam leaning against the door frame with both hands as his lips curve downward. 

“Is making slushies _that_ bad?” he asks, and this only gets a teeny chuckle from Harry as he turns back forward, burying his face in his hands as his eyes begin to sting.

He feels Liam coming over, feels the vibrations in his gentle footsteps, feels the bed sink in next to himself as he keeps his head in his hands and experiences the first tear sprout from the corner of his eye.

“You don’t wanna talk about it, I’m guessing,” Liam says quietly, his hand cautiously placed upon Harry’s back.

Harry shakes his head slightly, keeping his face buried in his hands.

The reminder that Liam is available if Harry ever needs to talk goes unsaid, because this isn’t the first time they’ve had a moment like this.  Harry is a mess.

There’s just a bit more silence that Harry allows as they sit there, the darkness beginning to settle around them and Liam providing the comfort of his presence.

“Can we watch Big Brother,” Harry says after a while, his voice raspy and toneless.

Liam is already springing up from where he sits as he flings himself toward the center of the bed, reaching for Harry’s television remote that remains buried within the sheets. “Ugh, you won’t _believe_ how ridiculous the show is getting now,” he says with a dramatic groan as Harry allows himself to laugh and get on the bed more comfortably in order to position himself next to the boy.

And with that, Harry’s asking questions about the episodes he missed, deciding to forget about the horrible, dreadful things that he’s surely going to be dealing with later.

And it lasts.  It lasts for quite a while as the night approaches, and Harry finds himself not forcing his mouth to laugh (even though at most his chuckles last for two seconds and only spread to one side of his lips), and the night continues on, and Harry almost _forgets_.

That is, until there’s a knock at their front door.

Of course.

Liam’s pausing the television and hopping himself up out of the bed before Harry can really react, already mumbling about how it’s probably a package that he ordered.

It only takes two seconds within the boy opening the door for Harry to become certain that it’s definitely not a package.

“Woah,” is all that can be heard of Liam as Harry remains in his bedroom.

Harry’s palms sink into the mattress as he shifts in order to get himself out of the bed, dreading the shitshow that he is most certainly going to be walking in on.

He doesn’t even fully exit the hallway before he halts his movements, his hand against the corner wall of the hallway as he sets his eyes upon the view of the open front door, all those feet away.

There Louis is, dressed in a same-sized, _cleaner_ hoodie, his hair somehow looking _better_ than before Harry had drenched it, and his baggy pants tucked into his socks as he continues to look effortlessly comfortable—which, that’s something Harry was prepared for, seeing as he’s already encountered the boy today.

What Harry’s not prepared for is the group of about five people, all of whom look like _servers,_ gathered behind him.  Each of them hold covered, silver food trays as they stand there wearing their bow ties and white button downs and—

“No,” is what comes out of Harry’s mouth.

“You’re—you’re,” Liam starts, completely blanking as he points one finger at Louis and uses the other hand to tug at his own hair.  “You’re _famous_ dude!”

Harry takes two steps forward as Liam continues to stammer inaudibly, and he lets another barely-heard “no” escape his mouth.

“I _love_ your stuff,” Liam continues, tittering nervously as he wipes his hands on his polyester pants.  “The stuff…that you do—“

Harry’s head snaps to Liam now, his eyebrows knitting together with frustration.  “Just yesterday you said—“

Liam’s nearly leaping over the coffee table, meeting Harry quickly and bringing his palm to cover the boy’s mouth. 

“Forget what I said,” he whispers to Harry, before turning his face back toward Louis as Harry smacks his hand away.  “Come in, make yourself at home.”

“I was waiting for that,” Louis says happily, before skipping out of the darkness and into the apartment, turning himself around in order to gesture at the servers he’d brought with him.  “I brought decorative fruits!” he exclaims excitedly, ushering his people in as he directs them to set the various covered platters down upon the dining table in the kitchen.

Before Harry knows it, they’re moving in and out of his flat, becoming blurred within his vision as he just stands there, not even sure if reality can be trusted anymore.

“Look!  It’s so pretty,” Louis says, going over to one of the trays set upon the counter and lifting the lid off of it.  Underneath lies an intricately decorated platter of various blackberries, strawberries cut into roses, and several other weird-looking fruity green things that Harry can’t even name.  “Decorative fruits!  I brought all of them, because I realized I’ve never asked you if you’re a citrus guy or a berry guy.”

He’s finishing his sentence and popping a strawberry into his mouth just in time for three of the servers to come back in with three more trays.  Louis immediately pushes himself away from the kitchen counter in order to direct them toward the hallway. 

“Those are going in Harry’s room,” he begins, throwing the rest of the strawberry between his lips (stem and all) and talking through a full mouth.  “Is it on the left, or the right?” he asks, his voice now distant as he journeys down the hallway.

“Left,” Liam calls, Harry’s eyes immediately shooting to him, hoping the heat of his glare is felt by the man.

“What?” Liam asks, putting his hands up and speaking secretively for no apparent reason.  “ _You’re_ the one who didn’t tell me that you knew Louis _fucking_ Tomlinson and that he was coming to our _home_.”

Harry turns his body toward Liam, not exactly knowing where to project his aggravation.  “First,” he begins, raising a useless hand as his eyes slip closed for a moment.  “Please don’t ever say his full name out like that.  Second, I talk about my ex every time you ask me about him.”

“Yeah, but you left out the huge fact that your _ex_ is Louis _fucking—“_

“I didn’t think it mattered!” Harry replies, not even aware of how he’s violently whispering right back at the man.

“Just a few more trays left!” Louis says, skipping out of the hallway and into the living room as the servers scurry out behind him.  He throws himself over the back of the living room couch, spreading his arms out on either side of him as he looks at Harry with his head upside down.

“No,” Harry says again, speed walking towards the front door as soon as the last server lets themselves out.  He closes it shut and locks it with jittery fingers, the creasing of his eyebrows nearly wrinkling his face.

“What, you’re not gonna kick me out too?” Louis asks, his voice small and delicate as he remains hanging upside down off of the couch, grinning at Harry.

Harry presses his back against the front door, his gaze going unsteady as he finds himself feeling increasingly unreal.

“I love the colors on the wall in your bedroom, by the way,” Louis continues, standing up in order to turn around and rest his forearms upon the couch.  “It’s like, not white, but not _quite_ beige—that’s really in style right now.”

Liam shyly lifts a hand in the air as he smiles.  “I’m the one who convinced him to get it painted,” he says.  “At first it was just gray, and it depressed me every time I walked in there.  Drove me crazy.”

“Then you, sir, have taste,” Louis replies, flashing his pearly whites at the man.

Harry’s zoning out more and more with every passing second. 

“God, that means so much coming from you,” Liam says, crossing his ankles over each other as Harry takes slow steps away from the front door, his wide eyes roaming over the multiple trays still sitting upon the dining table and kitchen counters.  He feels like he’s underwater as the two of them continue to talk.

“This is probably gonna sound pushy, but I’ve gotta know—what is Rami Malek like in real life?  I see that you guys have photos together…”

Harry successfully tunes them out as he nears the hallway, letting his index finger drag against the wall as he turns the corner toward his bedroom, only hearing bits and pieces of however Louis’ responding to Liam.

He stops just short of his bedroom entrance, letting his hands drop down to his sides as he takes a moment to absorb all of it.  The three open trays of giant decorative fruits, one upon his bed, one at the tiny table by his television, the other one on his night stand, and Harry’s not exactly sure what to think right now.

He steps into the room, walking slowly as he approaches his bed, taking in the fact that only five minutes ago he’d been reclining on this very mattress, finally succeeding in finding peace of mind for as long as it would be possible.

He finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed again, running a hand through the locks of his hair as he presses his lips together.

Here it is.  Here is the hurricane that Louis brings along with him every time he stops by.  He brings in the fucking disastrous storm that is his mouth, the attention he attracts, everything _about_ him, and then he just up and leaves as quickly as he comes, not giving a care as to the shambles he leaves behind. 

Harry had finally been getting some type of rhythm back into his life and sticking to an orderly way of things and—

Here he fucking is.

There’s a knock at the wall by his open door as he keeps his eyes cast down.

“What’s wrong cupcake?” Louis asks, leaning his head against the doorframe as he frowns.  “I made sure to put all the ones with papaya in here—because that’s one thing that I _do_ remember,” Louis begins, grinning crookedly as he walks forward with a finger pointed at Harry.  “You like papaya, as weird as that is.”

He sits back into one of Harry’s rolling chairs, slumping profusely in it as he nearly hangs out of the seat, his chin resting on his chest.  “Have you even eaten anything today?  You certainly don’t look it,” he says, toying with the zipper on his hoodie as he rolls the chair over to the table by the television.  He moves his hands through the few papers and pieces of useless wrappers that are cluttered on top of it, which mostly consist of work documents and information about new neighborhood policies.

“Looks like you still haven’t decided to go to school,” Louis says after he’s through with lazily looking through the papers.  He settles his hands back into his lap as he kicks his feet off the ground in order to roll the chair some more, now just seeming as though he’s having fun with it.  “Nothing wrong with that.  I mean, I never even finished _high school_ and look where my life has gone.”

Harry’s words are soft and almost chilling as he speaks through his dissociative state.  “It’s kinda easy when you’re the son of one of the biggest movie stars of the eighties.”

“I wasn’t talking about being, you know, famous and stuff, silly,” Louis says with a giggle, finally sitting up in his seat.  “I was talking about how the path of my life has allowed me to meet you.”

Harry’s breaths feel a tad shallower as he meets eyes with Louis, having to put forth more effort in order to see him as the lights remain off and the nighttime remains upon them.  He’s now not even aware of how he’s brought his foot into his lap and has been messing with the hole in his sock.

“You still look so good,” Louis comments, his voice quieter as he brings his pinky up to his mouth, not being subtle about roaming his eyes over the features of Harry’s face.  “Extremely good.  You always look good.”

“You said you wanted to talk to me,” Harry says, his voice cutting as he stops the pattern of gentle speaking.  “So talk.  Say anything of substance.”

“I _am_ talking,” Louis replies, rolling his chair forward as he laughs.  “We’re _talking_.  Although it’s mostly just _me,_ struggling to uphold the conversation while you stare at me like a serial killer.”

That gets a soft reaction out of Harry for once as he lets his head down, only huffing in laughter for a fleeting second, despite how hard he tries not to let it out.

“ _There_ they are,” Louis coos, leaning forward on his knees as he tilts his head at Harry.  “Those beautiful dimples that I’ve missed so much.  How could you ever expect me to stay away from those?”

Harry continues to mess with the hole in his sock as he can’t help the deepening dimple in his right cheek—it’s just so hard when Louis’ so _close_ and he’s saying all this fucking shit and—

“Stop,” Harry says, finally bringing his eyes up to meet Louis’ and not surprised to find that Louis doesn’t shift his gaze one bit.  He shakes his head as he continues to speak, although not being able to make his voice sound as stern as it once was.  “I know you’re just being impulsive again, and you’re making a stop here on your way to public self destruction.”

Louis sits back in his chair again, letting his head rest upon the seat as he plays with the pads of his fingers.  “Harry, you don’t really believe that, do you?”

All Harry does is shrug.

“I mean, yeah, things have been a little hard lately—and,” Louis begins, the sound of him scratching his neck echoing in the dark bedroom.  “I’ve been feeling less secure, and just _off_ , and when that happens, sometimes I get really irritable and lash out.  It’s a normal thing that people do, and I hate that I’m held to a higher standard for some reason.”

“So sad,” Harry replies boredly, finally letting his foot down.  “Anyway, why are you here?”

“You know, it honestly hurts, the fact that you believe what they say about me now.”

“You’re really lost if you think I still keep up with what _they,_ let alone anyone, has to say about you,” Harry retorts, using air quotes.

Louis throws his head back dramatically, clutching the fabric at his chest as he winces.  “Ouch.  Now _that_ actually hurt.”

“It was supposed to hurt,” Harry replies.  “You forced me to make like, fifty slushies today.”

“You dumped a _slushy_ on my _head_ ,” Louis fires back.  “My hair lady had to rinse and repeat, like, five times.”

Harry buries his mouth in his palm as he brings his knee back upon the bed, blinking sleepily at the boy and letting the silent question float through the air: _What are you doing here._

Louis sits up, bringing both of his feet upon the edge of the chair as a smile spreads across his face yet again.  “Let’s do something tomorrow.  I miss hanging out with you.”

“I’m working tomorrow.”

“Well, what about—“

“I work every day.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows as his confusion shows on his face.  “Why would you do that?”

Harry shrugs, burying his words into the heel of his palm.  “Requested it.  I have nothing better to do anyway.”

Louis settles his feet on the ground in order to roll up to him some more, frowning again as he reaches out a hand in order to settle his palm upon the area between Harry’s neck and jaw.  “Oh baby…” Louis just about breathes, Harry having no control of how his face naturally moves toward the contact of his soft fingertips.  “Now you do,” Louis continues, the first stroke of his thumb against Harry’s cheek immediately sending a shiver through his body like a wild current.  “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Pretty bold of you to assume hanging out with you is better than spending all day at the beach,” Harry says, although his voice is noticeably weaker as his head pretty much now rests in Louis’ palm.

“Well, I _hope_ it is, because you looked miserable before I showed up,” Louis says with a giggle, before shooting his arms out wide (Harry only letting out a slight exhale at the loss of physical contact).  “Free your schedule for the rest of the week—no, the rest of the _month—_ or better yet, the _year_!”  He pushes himself up out of the seat as he reaches for the platter sitting on the bed beside Harry, Harry’s eyes following his every move as though they’re now unable to focus on anything else.

“Because now that I’m back here, I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon,” he says, picking up a piece of cut papaya and bringing it to his mouth for a healthy bite.  “At least not without taking you with me.”

Louis takes the two steps over in order to bring himself in front of Harry, the boy now just about standing between his legs as Harry looks up at him, feeling absolutely sure there’s been some sort of spell cast upon him.

“Now take a bite for me babe,” Louis says tenderly, bringing the bitten papaya down in front of Harry’s lips.

Harry hates how much he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even take a moment to think before setting his teeth upon it—because he _does_ like papaya, but also because Louis’ looking down at him like he’s one of the seven wonders of the world, and admittedly, he is melting.

He even lets his teeth graze Louis’ thumb once he’s taken the fruit into his mouth, which immediately causes a giggle to sprout from Louis’ lips as he wraps his arm around Harry’s head and brings him in.

“Oh, how I’ve missed _us_ ,” Louis mumbles into his hair, before pressing a sweet kiss into it.

Harry’s definitely not sniffing his hoodie right now as Louis holds him close and runs his fingers through his hair and makes him feel like an angel and Harry’s never cutting his hair he’s never cutting it never ever _ever_.

He finds his fingers grasping onto the baggy material of Louis’ hoodie as they stay so close, feeling desperate for there to be less distance between his hands and Louis’ skin.

Louis pulls back only slightly, still cradling his head as he brings his pinky out toward Harry, probably in hopes that he’ll be eager to do their usual affectionate handshake.

Harry stares at his hand for a moment, only a second away from obliging, before common sense finally takes its place at the forefront of his mind again, bringing him to barely shake his head.

“We’re not quite there yet?” Louis asks sadly, before giving up and going back in to caress Harry against his chest with both arms.  “It was worth a shot.”

Harry allows his eyes to shut while he fully wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, nuzzling his head comfortably in his chest and feeling warmer with every passing second.  Louis’ breathing begins to sound like a lullaby in his ears.

“I’m gonna go get my stuff and bring it up into the flat, okay?” Louis speaks softly into his hair.

Harry nods.

“Hopefully I can sleep in the same room as you at least,” Louis continues, his fingers still languidly carding Harry’s hair.  “I’ll curl up on the floor if you want.  Hell, I’ll even try to make the desk comfy.”

As Harry joins his hands behind Louis’ waist, he knows he’s setting himself up for a shitload of chaos.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡ feel free to tell me what you think so far ♡
> 
> i'll be updating tuesdays and fridays :)


	2. Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter: american boyfriend - kevin abstract ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muU_ERWCgJA))
> 
> ~

 

 

It’s a little less of a struggle than it usually is with Harry, getting his eyes to flutter open once he’s aware that morning has come.

It’s less of a struggle due to the fact that he can still feel himself wrapped around Louis, loosely hugging the boy’s waist, even though it now seems like the boy isn’t laying down and is, in fact, sitting up against the headboard.

He’d always been an early riser.

It’s less of a struggle because, while his head’s still submerged and he’s hardly awake, he can hear the man talking, and even though just yesterday he’d kind of wished the man would stop, he can’t fathom how he’d gone without his always-moving mouth for so long.

As Harry’s eyes finally begin to open themselves to slits, his room seeming much brighter than usual as the sun pours in, he becomes aware, as he presses his forehead against Louis’ hip, that not only is the boy wide awake, but he’s fully dressed (the boy clad in jeans and one of those brown hipster boots that cost five hundred dollars for no reason), and also talking on the phone.  He has no idea how the man managed to move his way around the bedroom, all while not waking Harry as the boy still remains shirtless and limp among the pillows, but then again, Louis’ always been good at action without sound.

It seems he becomes aware of the fact that Harry’s awake as he continues to talk at a thousand words per minute on the phone (something to do with a girl wearing capri jeans, Harry doesn’t know), and he brings his hand into Harry’s hair, mussing the strands gently, just like he’d done the night before until Harry had given into sleep.

“And I was telling her, you know there’s no way I’m letting you out in public with me while wearing those,  I don’t care how long we’ve been friends…”

Harry groans as he shifts his body in order to turn over, moving his head so that it rests on top of Louis’ lap.  The man smiles warmly at him from up above, the sun rays coming in from the window behind his head making it just a tad difficult to look at him.

As he keeps talking on, however, the person on the phone sounding just as animated and obnoxious as Louis from what Harry hears, he grows slightly irritable of the fact that he’s not at the core of Louis’ focus right now. 

He eventually takes this problem into his own hands (literally), slowly reaching up to grip Louis’ palm where he continues to hold his phone.  He brings it down to his chest, Louis staring at him in puzzlement whilst Harry presses the screen in order to end the phone call.

Louis’ lips part as their hands still remain attached upon Harry’s chest, but it’s clear they’re both too soft and feathery to actually be serious about anything right now.  “Is there a reason you ended my very important conversation?”

Harry slips his eyes shut for a moment as he brings his other hand up in order to toy with Louis’ fingers with both palms, the boy allowing it and even moving his wrist around for Harry’s enjoyment.

“I want you to talk to me,” Harry says, his voice light and blending with the tranquil morning.  “Tell me good morning.  Tell me anything.”  He rolls over on his side, making comfort out of his own elbow upon Louis’ lap as he gazes up at him.  “I’d rather not have the first sound I wake up to in the morning be you, talking to your pretentious celebrity posse.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue, saying the words _treat me like I’m the only thing that matters_ , but that’s pushing it a bit, he figures.  That’s always been the one that was a bit of a stretch.  He’s not sure that can ever be a reality, no matter how much wishful thinking takes place.

“Okay, well get up here so I can hold you properly then,” Louis says sweetly, Harry not hesitating to sit up, and feeling himself giving in when Louis’ arms sneak around his bare waist with that usual gentle ease.  The subtlety of the boy’s touch always did succeed in turning Harry into a puddle of senselessness in the past, and it seems nothing has changed.

He presses his lips against the sheer material at Louis’ shoulder as he wraps his arms around his neck, swallowing thickly as the man purrs in his ear and continues to trace his skin.

“Good morning, love,” he whispers, Harry’s eyes falling shut again.  “You just took so long to wake up that I got bored,” he adds with a chuckle.

Harry’s silent about the fact that it’s quite odd how he was able to peacefully sleep the day away anyway, considering the fact that for the past several weeks it’d been almost routine for him to wake up before the alarm would go off at nine a.m. 

He definitely won’t give Louis the satisfaction of telling him that.

The sound of the doorknob to his bedroom being twisted as he rests his cheek on Louis’ shoulder doesn’t faze him, because he literally can’t bring himself to think about anything else as Louis’ hands caress his skin.

“So I wasn’t dreaming,” is what he hears Liam say from behind him.  “Last night wasn’t a dream.”

“Sure wasn’t,” Louis replies, Harry feeling the boy’s smile.

 “Okay, well.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the kitchen putting acai berries in my cereal and calling all my friends so I can brag about this.”

And with that, his footsteps are heard shuffling back down the hallway, and Harry is mumbling his tired words into Louis’ shoulder.

“He probably thinks I’m not boring for once.”

Louis sucks his teeth before he speaks.  “I’m sure he wasn’t thinking that,” he begins, although his tone sounds a bit distracted as one of his hands leave Harry’s back.  “He’s a really cool one, that guy.”

“Are you checking your phone behind my back?”

“Only sending out one…last text,” Louis responds, his attention still not fully focused.

Harry detaches himself from Louis, scooting back only an inch on the bed sheets as he rests with his palms leaned behind him, one hand settled in between Louis’ legs. 

“You know, you’re really attached to that thing,” he says. cocking his head to the side.

“You know, I kinda have to be, considering the type of life I have,” Louis replies, setting his phone upon the pillow as he cocks his head right back at Harry.  “Part of allowing ourselves to grow from last time is you, being accepting of that fact.”

“Me being accepting?” Harry asks, his brows knitting.  “Because if I remember correctly it was—“

Louis shushes him gently, leaning forward as he brings a finger to his lips, getting him to settle down (even though Harry does it with the usual roll of his eyes).  “I said _part_ , okay?” he assures him.  “I really don’t wanna argue with you about anything today—not even a _little._ If today you decide that the sky is green, I’m just gonna nod my head and agree.”

Harry lets out a shy giggle into his chest as Louis’ hand that’d once been upon his lips moves in order to tenderly take hold of his chin.  “I’ve dreamt about this a lot.  While I’m traveling, attending a bunch of events, doing interviews—I’ve dreamt about just being in front of you like this again.  Seeing you in all your tired beauty when you’ve just woken up, all sleepy and smiley like you are right now.”

Harry knows with no doubt that his cheeks are inflamed as he keeps his eyes trained on Louis’ chest.

“Although, your hair is a bit longer than I imagined.” Louis laughs, moving his hand from Harry’s chin and ghosting his fingers across his jaw in order to reach his hair strands, combing his fingers through them.  “It’s really pretty.”

Harry’s words are coming out of his mouth through breaths as he speaks.  “You’re just saying that.”

“Well—maybe you caught me red-handed, because obviously, I’m gonna think everything you do is pretty.”

Harry has nothing else he’s able to say right now as he’s finding himself increasingly flustered.  He’s just glad he’s not as easy and slippery as he was last night, and has actually gotten some _sleep_ in order to somewhat see through the heartfelt praises and dreamy eyes Louis continues to throw his way.

Louis smoothes his hand down against Harry’s shoulder, gently gripping his arm as he probably senses the fact that Harry’s holding back.  “Jesus.  Lighten up, cupcake.”

 _And_ the moment’s ruined.

Harry’s brain is finally starting to function properly again, and he’s reminded that there was a reason why he dumped that drink on Louis’ head yesterday.

Harry brings his hand up to where Louis’ gripping him, slowly removing the contact and proceeding to lay his hand down upon the bed sheets between them.

“Don’t call me that,” Harry replies, already shuffling in order to scoot himself off the side of the bed.

“Oh heavens, what did I do to upset the princess _now_?”

Harry reaches down to pull his socks back up his ankles as he sits off the side of the bed, speaking halfheartedly.  “You have twenty-four hours to do something, _anything_ right, and if you fail, you have to leave back out of my life immediately.  Because I can’t do this with you again.”

Louis sits up straighter, Harry being able to hear him dramatically sucking air into his mouth.  “Harry—“

“And I already know you’re gonna fail, because going out and doing anything with you in public is hell on earth.”

“Ouch,” Louis mutters, Harry feeling the bed move behind him as it seems the boy is shuffling closer.  He feels the man’s arm come out to wrap across his chest, the pads of his fingertips splaying against Harry’s skin.  “Babe.  You can’t think negatively before we’ve even gotten a chance to do what I have planned for today.”

Harry tries to remain solid, but he can’t help that he subtly sinks into Louis’ chest.

“And what is it that you have planned?”

“You’ll see.”

 

~*~

 

Harry has made a point to be completely mute in the passenger seat for a majority of the ride, partly because he’s sinking increasingly deeper into the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this, and partly because a tiny piece of him _doesn’t_ want to be the one who keeps sparking up arguments and causing friction.

So he didn’t comment on the fact that Louis was parked in one of his neighbor’s designated parking spots once they got downstairs, didn’t comment on the fact that his new red, transformer-esque vehicle is exceedingly obnoxious and the complete _opposite_ of going under the radar, and didn’t comment on the fact that Louis still has not informed Harry on where they’re going.

He’s still doubtful, of course, which is why he has his usual black leather backpack attached to his back, containing his work shirt as he sits uncomfortably in the passenger seat in his faded, thin crewneck.  He hasn’t gotten any word about being fired, so he figures if he needs to, he’ll bail on this entire day out and just finish whatever time left he has at work.

Louis looks ridiculous as he continues to wear his ostentatious designer outfit and sits with one of those round, vintage sunglasses resting in his hair. 

“Harry,” Louis says with a pout, continuing down the highway as he peeks at the boy out of the corner of his eye.  “Stop being so quiet.  It’s driving me wild trying to figure out what’s going through your head.”

“What’s going through my head is the fact that I could’ve been at work right now,” he replies, continuing to sit with his palms underneath his thighs, just as he’d been doing since he entered the car.  He just somehow feels like he’s not allowed to touch anything.

Louis sighs as he drums his fingers against the curve of the steering wheel.  “Ugh.  Work _this_ , work _that_ ,” he begins, veering off the exit.  “When will you just let yourself chill for a moment and do something fun?”

“Yeah, this is _so_ chill,” Harry replies, before tilting his head in order to look at the side view mirror for probably the third time this ride.  “Watching that car follow us for the last five miles has really brought me _so_ much relaxation.”

Louis stifles a laugh into his hand as Harry sits back in his seat, having no idea why that would be funny.

“That’s just my bodyguard.”

That doesn’t really make Harry any less tense, but he chooses not to say anything as he instead observes the fact that they’re driving through what he believes is the adjacent city that all those private school kids used to come from.  Harry’s probably only been around here once, seeing as he hardly even makes enough money to look at any of the shoppes here, so it makes _perfect_ sense that this is exactly where Louis is bringing him.

He keeps his mouth closed as Louis is pulling toward one of the back areas near the central shopping mall, Harry not even sure of how the area exists—or better yet, how Louis even knows it exists.   The heavily tinted black van behind them continues to stay close as Louis maneuvers his way around.

Harry speaks quietly once they’re parked in some dark, shadowy area that Harry’s pretty certain is designated for employees who want to take a smoke break. 

“Of all places, you think walking around at the mall with you is going to be a good idea.”

Louis extends out his hand in order to gently pinch the flesh of Harry’s cheek.  “No, silly.  We’re just going into the store I’m parked behind.  I have to show you something.”

And with that, he’s letting go of Harry and pressing the button in order to turn off the car.  He’s eagerly letting himself out of his door next, before just about sliding over the hood of the car in order to get to Harry’s side before the boy can even touch his door handle.  With the speed of a fox, he’s opening Harry’s door absurdly, bowing over like a nineteenth century gentleman whilst Harry snorts.

Harry’s only half-thrown once he steps out and sees Louis’ body guard in the flesh, standing there stone-like and rigid as he remains with his hands behind his back. 

“Barney, Harry.  Harry, Barney,” is what Louis says as he moves in order to shut the passenger door.

All Barney does is nod behind his thick sunglasses, not even offering a smile or anything near the sort.  Maybe Harry and this guy are similar in some ways, he supposes.

And then they’re walking forth, towards what looks like a lone door at the back of a building, and all Harry can think about is the fact that he definitely _doesn’t_ miss this; going through mazes just so they can relax at some public establishment.

“I already called to clear out the entire store, so we should be good,” Louis says as they make their way inside, Barney holding the door for the both of them.

 Once they’re inside, they find themselves in a backroom of some sort, although Harry’s more comfortable now that he’s looking at polished walls and lustrous marble under his shoes.

It appears they have one more door to go as it stands in plain sight ahead of them—but before Barney can even reach it, it’s being slowly pushed open, Harry’s eyes growing as he stays completely blind at where this is all going.

The man who enters is now brightening instantly upon seeing the one celebrity in the room. 

“ _Louis!_ Welcome!”

He’s wearing a pristine and intricately well-tailored navy suit, along with silver rimmed eyeglasses that tuck back into his clean blonde hairdo, and what looks like a silver earpiece that almost would’ve gone unnoticed if Harry wasn’t paying attention to his perfect hair.  Harry just _knows_ he’s the kind of person who would ask for the manager at his beach concession stand.  He _knows_ it. 

He’s proven correct when the man (who Harry figures out is named William as Louis greets him just as eagerly) is finished shaking hands with Louis, and only shifts his eyes slightly in order to address Harry over Louis’ shoulder.

“And…you brought your friend.”

“Oh yeah,” Louis says happily, glancing back at the boy.  “ _He’s_ the one I was talking about.”

William blinks just a few times, the information (whatever Louis meant by that) appearing to click as he straightens out his white cuffs.

“Oh,” he says eventually.  His lips begin to stretch torturously slowly as he holds eye contact with Harry.  “We’re very welcoming of you today.”

Harry’s aware he hasn’t said a single word since he’s stepped in here, but he’s not sure that matters to anyone else once William is already turning around toward where he came from, preparing to let them in.  Harry’s obviously not a top priority right now, since _Louis_ is here and this stranger is ready to cater to him in any way he pleases, help him to whatever he likes, and allow him to look at everything—

In a jewelry shop.

They somehow end up walking through some ridiculously high-end jewelry shop, and it cuts all of Harry’s coherent thoughts right off.

It’s not even just one of those casual shops that people can go to when they forget their anniversary or something, but it’s one of those that hardly anyone ever _steps_ into because of the instant waft of _I can’t afford the cheapest thing in here_ that hits them in the face pretty much instantly. 

Harry’s gripping the straps of his backpack as he becomes unaware of both how much his eyes have grown and how slowly his feet are moving as he looks around at the boxed, glassed displays of heavy looking gold necklaces, diamond encrusted _everything_ (from wallets, to watches, to fucking _shoes_ ), and even the very casual giant crystal swan in the corner that’s probably worth more than Harry’s entire life.

They sort of snake around the entire place for a moment, even though there’s not much area to cover as Harry blindly follows in Louis’ footsteps (it even seems like Barney’s following in _Harry’s_ footsteps).  There’s just enough _stuff_ and _sparkle_ and _pretty_ to make him dazed and feeling as though he’s walking through an endless wonderland of pearls and diamonds.

“We’d been awaiting your arrival ever since you placed your order for the custom white gold pendants,” William says, standing himself behind the glass counter at the back and resting his joined hands upon the surface.

Louis gasps as he shoots his eyes up, his feet carrying him back toward the front counter as Harry continues to absentmindedly follow with constantly moving eyes.  “Are they ready?” he asks, his voice contained with excitement.

“They sure are, sir,” William replies with a nod, before bringing his hand up toward his earpiece in order to press a button.  “I’ll tell my men to bring it out from the back so you can see if it’s to your liking.”

And as he’s speaking quietly into his device, and Louis is on his tippy toes with enthusiasm as he leans against the glass counter, and Barney remains silent and unmoving behind them, Harry can’t help his huge eyes as he unconsciously grips the straps of his bag tighter and looks down upon the display of gold rings locked up inside the counter.

“Wow,” Louis says softly, bringing Harry to turn his eyes toward him, finding the boy with his head rested in his hand as he stares almost dazedly at Harry.

“What?” Harry practically breathes.

“This is exactly what I’d wanted,” Louis continues.  “To see that enchanted look you’d get, everything shiny reflecting back in your eyes—I wish you could see yourself from my point of view, really.”   Harry blushes, knowing there’s no way he can possibly stop it.

Harry slowly brings his eyes back down to the glass, the almost unreal twinkling of the rings hypnotizing him in a very strange way.  “You know whatever you get me, I’m just gonna sell it,” he whispers, his voice not sounding even halfway convincing.

“Well, I’ll be happy just to know that you accepted my gift at some point, no matter what happens to it,” Louis replies easily, Harry resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Just at that moment, two more people are exiting the back room and coming up behind William, one of them being a young looking man with nearly black hair and a suit similar to William’s, and the other being a woman in a blazer and a pencil skirt, brown hair pin straight as it falls behind her.  Each of them hold a velvet black box in their hands, and Harry silently watches as they gently set it upon the glass in front of Louis and Harry, Harry feeling as though his eyes are being effortlessly tugged different ways.

“There was a lot of work put into these, so we really hope you’re pleased with them, sir,” the lady says, just as the both of them are gripping the boxes in order to pull the tops off of them.

Harry catches the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth as he keeps his gaze cast upon the boxes, and he finds himself immediately met with a cloudy feeling in his gut once he sees what are inside.

In each box, just like William had claimed, are white gold pendants that Harry’s definitely afraid to get even a fingerprint on.  Another thing that throws Harry is the fact that there’s an elegant _H_ decorated at the end of one of them and an _L_ on the other.  It’s not as flashy as Harry would expect from Louis, but he feels deeply that that’s because Louis had Harry in mind when picking these.  It isn’t too much, is the thing—it’s _just_ enough to procure a lot of Harry’s interest, as well as win over a lot of his heart.

“You already…had this made?” Harry asks, his voice still quiet as he keeps his eyes trained on the hypnotizing pendants. 

“Yeah,” Louis replies, equally as quiet.  He moves his hand slowly in order to get it settled upon where Harry’s lays against the counter, not quite gripping his hand, but simply resting it there for comfort.  “Figured I shouldn’t come back here empty handed, especially with how we left off.”

Harry’s head is filling with conflict as he goes compliant against Louis’ hand moving up to his face, his knuckles barely ghosting Harry’s cheek as the workers grin at them from the other side of the counter.

Maybe.

Maybe this isn’t so bad.  Obviously, for this to already have been prepared before they’d even gotten here, Louis had been thinking ahead.  He’d been thinking ahead about _Harry_ , and that’s definitely _something_. 

Maybe Harry’d been jumping the gun a bit, and this isn’t another one of Louis’ impulsive pit stops after all.

He feels lighter as he allows his own fingers to caress Louis’ hand where it still settles upon his cheek, subtly nuzzling his face into it in an attempt to show his appreciation without being vocal about it.

Louis takes one step toward him, fully within his personal area as their hands remain attached.  “So do you like it?”

Harry’s finally turning his eyes toward the sound of his voice, although his focus is more on Louis’ nose and chin as he feels himself growing all types of breathless.

He’s not fond of his own trembling breath when he breathes in, fully aware of Louis’ growing, adulated grin as his eyes follow Harry’s every miniscule movement.

“Um…” is what he begins his reply with, feeling Louis’ thumb move across his cheek again.

It seems that the roaming of his eyes contribute to the downfall of this moment, however, when he turns his gaze only slightly toward the entrance of this establishment (opposite of where they’d entered) and sees a littering of mall people just outside the glass doors, pressed against them with their phones being held up in excitement.

Just like that, Harry’s nerves become present for a _different_ reason as he turns his body toward the counter again in order to keep his back facing the entrance.

“Ugh…c’mon H,” Louis says exhaustedly, leaning an elbow upon the glass near him.  “Just ignore them.  Pretend they aren’t there.  We’re having fun, right?”

“Can’t help that I get nervous,” Harry replies, his eyes set back upon the same gold ring down below that he’d been ogling at before.  It’s now become sort of a safe thing, bringing his eyes back to it, since looking at the pendants is making him soft, and looking at Louis is making him a mess, and looking behind him at the crowd of people is making him frazzled.

“He seems to really admire the marquise cut rings,” William comments, his lips curved up on one side as he stares at it along with Harry.

“I know,” Louis replies, turning his attention back toward the man.  “Never expected him to have that kind of taste.”

William is taking a few steps back from the glass, joining his hands in front of himself as he speaks.  “Allow me to get the key, so I can take them out for him.”

Harry shifts his eyes up, shaking his head and already feeling scared about potentially touching anything.  “No, there’s no need to—“

“That’ll be perfect,” Louis says, bringing his fingers up to run themselves through Harry’s locks.  “Jesus, Harry you don’t have to be so meek all the time.  We’d love to look at them.”

William is nodding his head politely before making his exit toward the back as the two coworkers continue to stand silently behind the open pendant boxes.

“I don’t need to look at it,” Harry says, meeting Louis’ eyes whilst the boy’s fingers remain in his hair.

“Harry, that’s what we’re here for,” Louis replies, delicately tugging at his strands and causing Harry to flutter his eyes shut for a moment. 

He turns in order to bring his forehead down and get himself buried in Louis’ chest, trying and failing at tuning out the growing sound of additional people approaching the entrance.

“We have to go,” he mumbles.

“At least try to sound like you mean what you say,” Louis says, Harry hearing the sounds of William’s footsteps approaching them once again.

And soon enough, after William’s unlocked the glass cases, and the workers have helped him take many of the rings out in order to line them up along the counter, and William is suddenly talking at him about all the carats and the cut types and the _astronomical prices_ , Harry’s thoroughly overwhelmed. 

Still, however, he can’t seem to bring his eyes away from the rings, which are now _out_ of the glass cases of the counter and in perfect, shiny, almost ethereal view right in front of him.  Despite a lot of his protests, Louis slips one on his finger, Harry even being able to feel the _heaviness_ of it as it remains upon his index finger.

He finds himself not really listening to anything William is saying anymore as he fully gawks at it, although it doesn’t seem to matter as Louis continues to nod his head at the man and ask questions about things that Harry definitely doesn’t understand.

He _does_ say one thing that snatches Harry’s full attention after having halfheartedly listened to Louis ask the man about whether or not the ring Harry’s wearing is a best-seller.

“It’s one of the most popular from our wedding ring collection.”

Immediately, Harry’s eyes widen, Louis bursting into chuckles right next to him as it becomes clear they’re both taken backwards by this information.

“Oh, we’re definitely not there yet,” Louis says, still giggling into his hand as he continues to lean into Harry’s space.

“I mean, I agree,” Harry adds, running his finger across the jagged surface of the ring whilst looking down at it.  “Probably for different reasons than you, though.”

“Well, we _are_ very different people,” Louis says, his words mumbled into his fingers and his eyes following the one younger male employee as the man moves in order to adjust a diamond necklace display.  “We both don’t even really have time for that kind of thing, anyway.  You know me, I’m always moving.”

Harry speaks under his breath as he shifts his gaze back down.  “Yeah, so are your eyes…”

Louis snaps his head back toward Harry, blinking quickly as though he’d just become aware of what he was doing.  “Kinda makes sense that if I’m always moving, my eyes are moving too,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice.  “They’re attached to my body.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Actually I don’t know, cupcake,” Louis replies tiredly.  “How am I ever supposed to know what you mean when you speak so vaguely all the time?”  He smoothly shifts his attention toward the counter down below, making a show of putting his fingerprint on the glass as he points at it.  “Now let’s look at that one.”

“Nope, let’s not,” Harry replies, already backing away from the counter as he grips the straps of his bag.  “I think I’m done here.”

Louis sighs heavily, looking back at the boy as his frustration grows.  “Not this again.”

“I’m ready to go,” Harry says easily, keeping his face straight.  “And if you keep me here any longer, this turns into a kidnapping.”  He doesn’t waste another second before walking toward the back exit of which they came from, the sound of knuckles knocking at the glass entrance doors only pushing him forth.

“Leaving so soon?” William asks, walking up from where he’d been assisting the other employee with the display.  He sounds genuinely devastated, but Harry doesn’t halt his strides as he nears the door (Barney unexpectedly intercepting him in order to pull it open for him at the last second).

He hears Louis blow a huff of air out of his mouth, indicating that he’s clearly growing annoyed, for whatever reason.  “I guess, yeah,” he answers.  “Just keep the pendants safe in the back for me, will you?  We’ll return for them later.”

Harry doesn’t hear much after that, seeing as he’s significantly further forward than Louis and already finds himself exiting out of the lone door that he’d initially seen upon arriving here.  He’s once again standing outside in that weird, creepy back area as Barney stands off to the side.  He just stares forth, Louis’ over-the-top vehicle continuing to look outrageously out of place, right along with the huge black van parked adjacent to it. 

 “Feel free to come again!” Harry hears from behind him, just as it appears Louis’ finally joining them, offering the last of his formal goodbyes to William before the door shuts.

Harry rotates his way around slowly, meeting eyes with Louis as the boy stands in front of the closed door.  When the boy uses his index finger in order to slide his round sunglasses over his eyes, before crossing his arms over his chest disapprovingly, Harry can literally _feel_ the change in atmosphere.  He’s pretty sure Barney can too.

“So,” Louis says coldly.  “I guess this is what you’re gonna keep doing, then.”

“As long as I’m reminded of why you’re trying so hard to win me back,” Harry begins, nodding positively.  “Pretty much, yeah.”

Louis strokes his fingers over his forehead as he looks down, digging the toe of his boot into the concrete.  “I just…I don’t know what you want me to do,” he says, dropping his arms defeatedly.  “I’m trying to fix this the best way I know how, and—I’m doing everything to make you happy—“

“Like what?  Filling my apartment with exotic fruits?” Harry asks, knitting his eyebrows together as he takes a step toward the boy.  “Showing me pretty jewelry?  You do realize you can’t just _buy_ my trust back, right?”

“And you _do_ realize there are probably a thousand other guys who would _kill_ to be in your place, right?” Louis asks, Harry already laughing dryly and shaking his head by the end of his sentence.  “I don’t even need to be wasting my time here, so the fact that I _am_ shouldn’t be taken very lightly!”

“Wow, you are so…” Harry begins, his fingers inching towards his hair as he resists the urge to rip his strands out.  “You haven’t even changed.  You haven’t learned _anything_ and I’m fucking tired of convincing myself that you have—”

“Jesus Christ, with _this_ again!” Louis exclaims exasperatedly, his voice level rising to match the boy’s.  “When are you gonna just get over it?”

“ _Get over it?”_ Harry asks, his stare fierce as he steps toward Louis briskly, his voice almost thundering.  “Seriously?  _Get_ _over it?_ ”

Harry had almost become forgetful of Barney’s presence, until there he is, quickly stepping near Louis and putting  a protective arm out in front of him, the boy continuing to stand where he is with his arms crossed over his chest defiantly.

Harry steps back onto his heel as he quiets himself, swallowing thickly and becoming sold on the fact that this whole thing is a mistake.  Louis is still the same, having to feel this way fucking sucks, and he really just needs to go.

So he does.

He’d rather die than ride in the passenger seat of Louis’ car again, and he’s not even sure of exactly where he’s going as he walks himself down one of the alleyways nearby, closing his eyes briefly and hoping that it leads to somewhere brighter, and public, since you know, he _is_ a normal member of society, and not some sheltered star who has to maneuver around strangely just to get into a shopping mall.

He tries to ignore the sound of Louis telling Barney to stay back for a moment (and obviously fails), instead wanting to watch his feet hit the ground and choke down the lump that’s growing in his throat.

He sees the light of daytime at the end of the alleyway as he moves toward it, figuring he’ll just catch a lift home—or maybe even _walk_ the entire way, down the highways, hills, and everything.

“ _Harry!_ ”

Harry had finally been stepping upon the sidewalk, this side of the exterior of the mall being almost empty since this is basically the back of it.  He sucks in air sharply through his nose as he stills his feet, admittedly just a bit thrown by the demanding loudness of Louis’ voice.

He turns around almost timidly, not a trace of scorn anywhere to be seen on his face.

As the boy stands there growing red in the face, eyes sheltered by his expensive shades and body covered in flashy designer clothing, Harry feels he’s currently portraying the exact “look” of the bratty celebrity who snaps once they don’t get their way. 

It makes sense, because Louis snapping is exactly what ensues.

“Are you not aware that I traveled from an entirely different country just to be here with you?  I put a pause on almost every project my name is on, fled the spotlight, I’m missing out on tons of money I could be making right now—just for you to be all childish and needy when I get here!” he yells, Harry’s eyes watchful in case any people start to gather.  “Childish and needy, all the _time_!  This is why we went to _shit_!”

“I was so fucking _childish_ and _needy_ for wanting you to actually make time for me, I guess!” Harry shouts right back, stepping toward the man with what he’s pretty sure is a vain popping out the side of his head.  “For you to have eyes for me and _only_ me while we were together!”   His stare is endlessly hard and his eyebrows are creased as he speaks with his hands moving sharply (it happens when he’s angry).  “For you to actually _mean_ it when you say you love me! How fucking _dare_ I be that _needy_?”

“And there you go, taking it too far as always,” Louis says, throwing a hand in the air just as someone’s making their way past them on the sidewalk.  It seems the person isn’t fully watching where they’re going as he looks down at his phone, which leads to him making the mistake of bumping into Louis on the way past, which is obviously an unforgivable crime. 

The man quickly offers his apologies while Louis’ stumbling back on his feet, but it seems all this does is infuriate the narcissistic diva even more.

“Do you not know who I am? It wouldn’t kill you to watch where the fuck you’re going!” he spits, rolling his shoulder around as he positions himself to face Harry again.

“There he is.  There’s the pompous brat that you’ve been trying so hard to hold inside since you got here,” Harry says.  “You lasted a record twenty-two hours though.  Impressive.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t push me here.  You pushed me, and now of course, you’re gonna put all the blame on me as well.”

“Sure I did,” Harry replies, dragging his feet backward and becoming increasingly over this argument, as well as knowing he’s only going to get louder and angrier if he continues.  He turns around on his heel, continuing down the sidewalk with his mind already set on returning back to his life of work and nothing else.  “Don’t follow me.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Louis says matter-of-factly, his words ringing true as his voice sounds distant the further Harry traverses.  “I’ll just let you go back to the _incredibly_ boring life that you’re so obsessed with!” 

His voice sounds partially cracked, indicating to Harry’s trained ears that he obviously doesn’t mean the words he’s saying, but Harry still allows them to piss him off as he bites the inside of his cheek and continues forward with his fingers clenching in and out.

He can already hear the boy moving the opposite way, probably desperate to get back to Barney before he attracts the inevitable crowd of people that regularly make it so excruciating for anyone to even attempt to hang out with him.

As for Harry, he just keeps walking, not even sure of where he’s headed as he keeps his frustrated gaze set down upon his shoes whilst they hit the pavement.

Of course, if he wanted to, he could just catch a ride and finish off his work day (that is, given that he still even has his job (he definitely didn’t call to let them know he wasn’t coming)), but suddenly he doesn’t feel as adamant about doing that.  He just wants to be away from everything for a moment; simply isolate himself from the world and all of its people, problems, and empty hopes.

After a while, it seems Harry might achieve his dream of walking all the way after all, since he begins to feel as though he’s been traveling aimlessly for over an hour.  The sun continues to beat down on him violently and his head continues to thrum with aggravation, and the only thing that seems to gain a trickle of his attention is the sight of the rich people city down below as he walks along the sidewalk of one of the bridged roads. 

He decides to take a break in order to take a couple of breaths in and out to calm his mind, and he’s stepping toward the railing of the bridge, getting himself sat down against it.  He lets his feet hang off of the edge and his arms rest upon the bar, and he becomes just a little comforted as he watches the sun’s descent—it’s pretty much halfway down, which means that the world is still turning, and at least he got through this day alive.

The blow of the wind upon his neck as cars continue to move back and forth along the roads behind him is somewhat helping to soothe him as he keeps his eyes trained on the busy city down below.

He’s just not comprehending how he’s allowed himself to get pulled into this mess again.  He’d actually been having a good emotionless, detached streak, and he was planning to continue on this way going forward, yet here he is, _feeling_ things, wanting to cry, and it’s fucking annoying.

Just as he’s beginning to spiral down a cliff of self-scolding and irritation, something catches his eyes from far away and down below, within the very hub of the city.

Flashing lights.

Not just any regular flashing lights, however—red and blue ones, specifically. 

And as Harry narrows his eyes and leans forth against the railing to get a better look, he slowly becomes aware of the fact that the flashing lights seem to be emerging from the shopping mall he and Louis were just at.

Harry remains puzzled as he wonders what could’ve possibly happened in order to warrant the now _five_ different police cars to be pulling up towards the mall currently.

And then he looks down at his hands, finding his fingers toying with the marquise cut ring that’s—

That’s still on his finger.

Shit.

His mouth drifts open the longer he just stares at it, and then flicks his gaze toward the surrounding police cars, and then stares at it again, and then flicks his gaze toward the surrounding police cars.

Fucking _shit_. 

He would say today just isn’t his day, but he’s fairly certain no day has “been his day” in quite a while.

He thinks as rapidly as he can, which ends up being pretty sluggishly as he gapes some more and brings his other hand over in order to shield the ring.

The distant sound of the sirens coming from the many different vehicles only brings Harry to slip into a natural state of panic, and he finds himself sliding the ring off of his finger as discreetly as possible, closing his fist around it as he scoots himself back in order to perhaps, _leave_.

He slides his backpack off of only one arm, walking with a little power in his step as he zips it open in order to slip the ring inside it.

He’s not even sure _why_ his initial plan of action is to hide it, it’s just the first thing his mind tells him to do once there’s a fucking _helicopter_ flying over his head, going in the direction of the shopping mall, and he’s _losing his shit._

Is it even that serious, getting all of this security and attracting so much attention for a simple accident?  Sure, it’s a gazillion dollar ring and both he and Louis have left the scene without making any attempts to return it for over an _hour_ , but still.  They shouldn’t be making _this_ much of a ruckus about it.

Harry slides his hands deeply into the pockets of his bottoms and blinks down at the ground as he contemplates his next plan of action, but he can’t bring himself to slow down the beating of his heart or steady his breathing as he continues upon the sidewalk, the wind of the cars seeming to pick up as the sky grows purple.

He almost jumps when he feels his phone vibrate from where it’s in the side pocket of his bag, and he takes two seconds to unclench his body before reaching for it, immediately finding himself somewhat relieved at the numbers on the screen.

Which indicates he’s definitely at rock bottom.

He _does_ take a second to thank the heavens for pushing him to unblock the boy’s number last night, though.

He brings the phone to his ear with one hand, using the other to scratch at his shoulder.

“You still have the ring, don’t you, genius?”

“I didn’t know I still—how did I even get _out_ with it?” Harry stammers, speaking breathily and only glancing to the side fleetingly as a cop car flies by him on the street.  “Fuck, I forgot I still had it on.”

“Obviously.”

“What should I do?” he asks, frantically itching the point of his elbow as he walks with his head down.

There’s a scratchy sound on the other end of the line, Harry assuming it’s Louis laughing with his fake, shit-eating cackles.  “Thought you wanted me to leave you alone.”

“Louis.”  He actually pauses his walking for a moment, hoping to convey in the exhaustion of his tone that he’s desperate and _really_ doesn’t feel like going back and forth right now.  “I don’t know how to go about this without looking guilty.”

He becomes increasingly irritable once he’s met with stretching silence on the phone, the movement of the cars next to him only adding to his chills as he keeps the device pressed up against his ear.

And then a showy, exceedingly polished red car is pulling up next to him on the curb, Harry glancing up toward it just as the window’s being rolled down.

“Get in, loser,” Louis says, Harry lowering the phone away from his face.

So, he of course finds himself in the passenger seat of Louis’ car, despite previously not wanting to ever be inside this thing again, and weirdly enough, it’s become some sort of a safe space in just the last five minutes.

“So what do I do?” Harry asks, struggling to get settled and comfortable in the seat whilst he continues to shift his gaze toward as much of the crime scene as he can see from here.

The silence from Louis as they casually coast down the road pulls his eyes away from the city and toward the boy, however, only to find him toying with his bottom lip between his fingers.

He laughs into his fingers gently before speaking, one hand lazily gripping the wheel.  “To be honest I have absolutely no idea.  I was gonna come up with something on the spot once you got in here, but.”  He shrugs.  “I’m blanking.”

“You’re shit, you know that right?” Harry asks, pressing his shoulder against the window in order to get a good look at the side view mirror.

“Jesus, you can stop looking everywhere as though someone’s gonna run up behind you or something,” Louis says.  “And you won’t find Barney behind us, because I told him he could go home for today.”

“And once again, you’re shit, because if he were here, we would’ve been able to just get into his car, instead of being part of the world’s easiest game of _Where’s Waldo_ by driving in _this_ one.”

Louis’ lips part, Harry feeling himself grow irate of the fact that his energy isn’t matching the _urgency_ of the situation they’re in.  “Harry.  You’re freaking out _way_ too much right now.”

“Just drive me over there.  I’ll return it,” Harry replies, not even listening to the boy as his mind begins to display images of a future jail cell if he keeps this ring in his possession any longer.

“Okay— _Harry_ ,” Louis says, his voice soft.  “I’m gonna need you to take a serious chill pill as soon as possible.”

“That’s easy for _you_ to say when you’re not the one who actually _has_ the god damn ring!” Harry exclaims, his eyes boring into Louis incredulously.  “You saw the way that guy was looking at me as soon as we came in—he thought I was sketchy from the start.”

“If I remember correctly, he was actually being quite polite to you, yet here you are, acting as though everyone is out to get you as always.”

“And here _you_ are, providing absolutely no helpful input and _still_ not driving me towards the mall so I can return it.”

“Okay then, fine,” Louis says decidedly, approaching a street corner in order to prepare to take a right turn.  “I  was gonna at least wait until the noise died down for _your_ sake so that you’re not immediately met with handcuffs upon arriving“—Harry struggles not to wince—“but if you wanna show your face at the crime scene that _desperately,_ so be it.”

Harry’s half a second away from opening his mouth to tell Louis to stop assuming the worst, but he gets halted by the low, fuzzy sound of the words _Louis Tomlinson_ coming from the speakers of the car radio.  Harry’s certain his ears are conditioned to automatically turn themselves on to anything that says Louis’ full name out.

Harry quickly reaches toward the radio, rotating the dial in order to raise the volume—and sure enough, they _are_ talking about Louis.

“Harry, this isn’t the time to listen to music—“

Harry puts up a finger as he shushes him, still leaned forward and intensely concentrated.

_“…Tomlinson and what seems to be his new boy toy have allegedly worked together in order to stage a robbery at a high-end jewelry store just south of…”_

Harry feels the ability to breathe leaving him, the words of the news reporter echoing around him, bouncing off the windows of the car.

“Shit…” he whispers.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Louis asks, the volume of his voice, paired with the genuine anger of it, snatching Harry’s attention.  “ _Already?_   Are they being _serious_ right now?  I didn’t even fucking _do_ anything!”

Even with the lenses still covering the boy’s eyes, Harry’s sure there’s currently a growing fire behind them as he lets the wild assumptions of some ignorant radio segment get to him.  It even kind of throws Harry for a loop also, the fact that they were so quick to rip him apart and label him something as outlandish as a thief—even if it _is_ “alleged”.

Harry also quickly notices that Louis’ stepping on the gas a tad harder as he continues to shout expletives about the shitty press and how all they want to do is paint him in a negative light, and Harry has to flip his protective switch on as he watches the road in front them.

“Louis…”

“I mean—it’s totally believable too!  I hate that it’s fucking believable, because we came in, got nothing, and left, and now we’re nowhere to be seen and you were wearing that _fucking_ backpack with your work shirt in it—which, I told you there would be _no need_ for you to go to work today but _no,_ you just _had_ to be pessimistic about how this day would go—“

“Um…” Harry begins, breathing sharply as his eyes stare out the window.  “I think we have other things to worry about—“

“It just doesn’t look like an accident,” Louis continues, his chest heaving as he continues to fly down the road.  He flicks on his headlights as it seems the darkened sky calls for it, still not seeming to be listening to anything but his spiraling thoughts.  “It doesn’t look like an accident, and my mom’s probably reading about everything and I’m gonna be in so much trouble—“

“Louis.  Babe,” Harry begins, reaching his hand out in order to set it upon Louis’ thigh, desperately needing the boy to chill as they continue to accelerate at an alarming speed.  “Calm down.  Please.  Do you understand how fast you’re going right now?”

“I can’t even show my face anywhere after this,” Louis pretty much sobs, taking a moment to bury his face into his hands, Harry’s eyes shooting towards the road.

Yep, he’s probably going to die soon.

But _not_ because of Louis having a breakdown while driving, surprisingly.

It’s almost like as soon as Harry glances at the side view mirror again, the vehicle tailgating them that he'd initially suspected to be an undercover cop car, flashes its lights on.

“Hey, don’t freak out, but…” Harry begins, inhaling shakily whilst moving to sit with his back glued to the seat.  “There’s a cop car behind us.”

This actually seems to get Louis to do the exact opposite of what Harry had asked, his eyes whipping toward the rearview mirror as he pushes his sunglasses into his hair.

“Shit,” Louis breathes, before finally looking at the road again just in time to swerve around a car that he was most definitely about to rear-end.  It’s a survival instinct, the way Harry’s trembling hands move to grip both armrests.

“This is what they want,” Louis says, the calmness of his voice surely beginning to startle Harry.  It’s not hard to miss the gradual pressure that he’s placing upon the gas pedal as he speaks.  “They want to catch me, drag me out in handcuffs, snap more pictures so they can glue my face in the middle of some article that’s full of _lies_!”

“It’s okay though—babe, at the end of the day _I_ know who you are and what’s true,” Harry says, speaking soothingly in order to get the boy to _stop fucking speeding away from the cops_ perhaps.  “That’s what actually matters.  Right?”

“What matters is _me_ , getting my revenge on these assholes!” Louis yells, sharply turning a street corner at the last second and causing them both to be nearly thrown towards one side of the car.

As much as Harry had been growing terrified at the thought of glancing at the side view mirror again, he eventually takes a peek as his heart stutters and his eyes glare widely—and there’s definitely more than one car now, following behind as they seem to be preparing to approach Louis on both sides.

And.

They are actively flying the police right now.  Harry has this fucking ring in his backpack and he and Louis are engaging in a high speed chase across one of the wealthiest cities in town. 

“So you’re just not gonna _stop?_ ” Harry asks disbelievingly, holding onto the vehicle anywhere he can for dear life as Louis runs a red light.

Louis stares at Harry just as incredulously whilst making another turn, as though even the _idea_ of him stopping like a normal human being is absurd.  “Stop for what?  In case you weren’t paying attention today, I didn’t fucking _do_ anyth—“

The jarring sound of the car violently crashing into something hard and metal, followed by how the world pretty much seems to shake as _whatever_ Louis had hit begins to have quite the harsh effect on the car, is what causes Louis’ sentence to clip right off, the boy losing complete control of the steering wheel.

Harry’s certain these are definitely his last moments of life and being alive and breathing as the car jolts him around roughly—he’s pretty sure the thing fucking _flips_ , and all he can see are the fleeting views of what looks like them crashing through a construction site, complete with orange cones, yellow tape, and many debris that Louis definitely hadn’t been paying attention to.  All he can hear is an excruciating ringing in his ear as his vision goes blurry.

The torment finally brings itself to a stop once it feels as though the car has crashed head first into some manmade ditch upon the construction site, and Harry feels as though he’s quickly slipping out of reality as an immense pain is felt somewhere near his head.

There’s a moment where all Harry can do is breathe, his chest heaving in and out after having had his life flash before his eyes—and immediately, once the ringing in his ear subsides, all Harry can feel is an overwhelming gratefulness for the fact that the boy is breathing next to him too.

“You alright?” Louis asks eventually, Harry’s eyes moving toward him and finding a purpling bruise upon his right cheekbone, as well as a cut over his bottom lip that’s soon to draw blood.  The windows of his now gnarled vehicle are smashed at every side, and with the way the car is tilted toward the ground, he can see the boy’s annihilated sunglasses down below upon the concrete, probably having flown off his head once they’d finally crashed.

“Yeah, I just…” Harry starts, his voice rough and his head still in a state of fuzziness.

“C’mon,” Louis says quickly, seeming to have not even missed a _beat_ in terms of what his initial frustration had been toward.

Since they’re both unable to open the car doors, Harry just follows Louis’ lead and pulls himself out through the window, backpack still secured to his back, gripping the top of the car as he tries not to freak himself out about the shards of glass that may or may not get into his abdomen.

As Harry still remains hazy about what real life even is, he somehow finds himself out of the car, Louis helping in order to pull him up out of the ditch as it seems there’s no police car anywhere in sight.

The faint sound of sirens dangerously close triggers the both of them though, Louis having been in the midst of holding Harry’s head to his chest once they both become aware of it.

Harry’s not sure how they’d managed to lose the police cars up until this point in the first place—he figures Louis had probably swerved around enough cars and turned abruptly into enough roads in order for it to happen—but that doesn’t matter once they’re face to face with one police car, veering around the corner with its headlights on full beam as it speeds past the construction site sign that Louis had so graciously split in half.

“ _Run_.”

And—Harry doesn’t need much more convincing than that.  Even _he_ knows they’re way too far gone to just return the damn thing now.

He and Louis are both on their feet without a moment’s delay, Harry not even remembering the last time he’d ever ran this fast in his life—actually, he can’t even remember the last time he ran, period.

But that’s not something to dwell on as he’s blindly following Louis through the endless maze that is the construction site, not hearing the cop car coming any closer, probably due to the fact that their vehicle’s going to end up in a ditch as well if they power through it.

They turn the corner of one of the unfinished buildings, Harry’s heart racing in a way he didn’t even know possible as Louis charges at an unexpectedly lightning fast pace.

“Here, here,” Louis breathes, turning into a particularly tight and narrow area between broken buildings and sharply tugging on Harry’s arm in order to pull him in.

Harry tries to ignore how the specific off-putting smell and feel of this place seem…familiar, because there are more pressing things at hand to deal with as Louis continues to pull him further and further down into the dark, tightly built hiding area.

They find themselves squeezing into the very end of it, which is somehow even narrower than it initially was, and Louis is sliding his back down against the wall, his knees nearly digging holes in his chest as Harry’s certain a rat resides in the shadowy corner.

Harry sits alongside him, even with his fear of whatever insects and rodents are ready to jump out at him in this corner, and even with his small nerves concerning tight spaces.  He just sits with his body somehow managing to fit, and he struggles to catch his breath after just having gotten finished running for his life.

After a while, the shaky heaviness of their inhaling and exhaling begin to match, the crown of Harry’s head pressed back against the brick of the wall as he glances at the boy out of the corner of his eye.  He can hardly see anything besides the shadowed outline of his mussed hair and the glistening sweat upon his nose, but it still does something to him.  Just knowing that Louis is here, and beside him, and they just _did_ that.

Before he knows it, the trepidation of his own breathing turns into an almost wheezed laugh, Harry feeling tension begin to ease out of his body as they remain crammed where they are.

“What’s funny?” Louis asks through relentless breaths.

Harry shakes his head faintly, letting his eyes fall shut as he swallows.  “The fact that this is happening.”

“Harry, this is serious,” Louis replies, his tone quiet and not at all humorous.  “I’m sick of being their puppet.  This is my humanity that we’re fighting for, I hope you get that.”

“You _do_ understand you made it way worse by speeding away, right?” Harry asks, his eyes still closed.  “You’re just acting out of anger right now, and being—“

“Harry, _please_ don’t use the word impulsive on me right now,” Louis whispers, practically begs.  “You always do it.  They do too.  Please stop.”

Harry opens his eyes, shifting his gaze in Louis’ direction and feeling something come to life in his chest at the fragility of Louis' voice.  “Louis, I was just—“

The distant sound of voices coming near immediately brings Louis to slap his hand over Harry’s mouth, the both of them becoming dead silent.

Harry breathes as quietly as he can through his nose as Louis holds his hand there, the voices growing even nearer and Harry’s heart race skyrocketing.

This is without a doubt the most anxious Harry’s ever been, and probably ever will be, as he watches the glow of what looks like a flashlight being cast upon the area they’re walking.  He simply waits for what the outcome will be—whether or not this will actually be his last moment as a free man without a criminal record.

And then, the glowing light is gone.  And the sound of footsteps that they’d both begun hearing start to grow distant. 

Once the both of them are no longer able to hear any voices as they wait silently, Louis slowly releases Harry’s mouth from his hand, instead moving his fingers in order to embrace the boy’s cheek as he often does.

It seems he’s doing it blindly, however, which is inevitable given the completely dark setting of this corner, and his caressing of the boy’s face pauses abruptly.

“Oh baby…” Louis breathes.  “You’re bleeding.”

Harry hadn’t been aware of that, but it now becomes obvious as he re-registers the pain in his head, as well as feels Louis gently patting down the side of his face.

“Ah, I’ve been in worse states.”

Louis’ chuckle is feathery once he lets it fall from between his lips, and he moves his hand in order to settle it upon Harry’s knee.  “My beautiful boy,” Louis whispers, bringing his lips down to Harry’s knee in order to press a kiss into it.  “Always shrugging everything off.”

Harry holds his breath for just a bit as he registers the rush that flows through him as a result of Louis’ lips touching the fabric at his knee.

He swallows again before speaking, starting to feel as though his own sweating has gotten worse.  “So when are we gonna be in the clear?  I can’t stay in tight spaces this long.”

“Tight spaces with _me_ , probably,” Louis replies as he lets go of Harry’s knee, Harry being able to hear the rolling of his eyes.

“Nope, just tight spaces in general,” Harry says, not even commenting on the fact that Louis’ reaching into his back pocket for his phone (how could one even _think_ about a phone at a time like this?)  “Don’t stroke your own ego _too_ much.”

The dimmed glow coming from the boy’s phone (which unfortunately isn’t destroyed) allows Harry to see his face in better detail, and as his lips continue to curve downward, and his eyes turn into slits, Harry’s already certain of what it is he’s looking at.

“This is so sick,” Louis whispers, his words actually breaking just a hint as his eyes begin to gloss.  He eventually brings one hand up to his mouth, clearly slipping back into his previous state of misery as he reads on.  “Oh my god…”

“Okay, that’s it,” Harry says, before snatching Louis’ phone out of his hand without giving it a second thought.  He works in order to slide it into the side pocket of his backpack, right alongside his own phone.  “As long as you’re with me, you’re not checking that.”

Louis’ already leaning toward him, grabbing at the boy’s arm as he gapes.  “But I _have_ to,” he says, voice broken.  “I have to see what they’re saying about me—and know what my mom’s gonna be reading, and—“

“And you want her to think well of you, right?” Harry asks gently, struggling to hold eye contact with Louis without being able to see anything.

Louis nods wordlessly, Harry hearing the movement of it.

“Shouldn’t she get that from knowing you as her _son_ and not by reading sensationalized tabloid articles?”

Louis leans the side of his head against the brick wall, sighing tiredly as he continues to loosely hold Harry’s arm.  “One would think that, yeah.”

Harry chews on his bottom lip as he keeps his eyes trained towards Louis, his heart feeling heavy.  He blinks tiredly, not knowing what to do in this moment—and slowly becoming aware that Louis is the exact same, the boy probably even planning to hide in this tiny place forever until they die of starvation (Harry will probably die of claustrophobia before that, however).

Harry scoots along the wall, towards the open end as he huffs.  “C’mon.”

Louis only makes a faint questioning sound as he moves to crawl behind him.

“I don’t think they’re still out here,” he continues, getting upon his feet as he nears the exit, making a point to crouch down.

He stays hovered over the ground as he grips the corner edge of the brick wall.  His breath is completely still whilst he moves carefully in order to peek his head out into the open darkness.

All is clear.

Somehow, somewhere, an angel is clearly watching over him (even though they’d obviously been missing in action for most of his life).

“Okay,” Harry breathes, stepping out into the darkness where it’s just a little brighter than where he once was, becoming hyperaware of every step he takes against the pavement.  Louis follows suit, the both of them severely controlling the volume of their breaths.

“I…I know this place,” Harry finally voices out loud once he finds himself walking steadily alongside the boy, his palms sweaty.  “I know where we can comfortably stay, or something.”  He walks with more purpose, squinting his eyes through the darkness of the empty, seemingly abandoned streets as he fights to remember the ins and outs of this area.

Louis must’ve been speeding from those cops for longer than Harry’d originally imagined, because right now, as they walk in a paranoid haze, Harry’s sure they’re currently in one of the desolate cities right on the outskirts of pretty much everything.  He’s only been here a few times a short while ago, back in high school when he had to help elderly people in order to get community service credits, or something of the sort.

“In one of…these buildings?” Louis asks hesitantly, his tone clearly showing judgment.

Harry pauses his strides, turning to face Louis and knit his eyebrows together with vexation.  “Yes, princess.  Unless of course, you’d rather go _all_ the way back to my place, get caught on the way there, and spend the night in jail.”

Louis continues forward, folding his arms over himself and nodding repeatedly.  “Alright, alright.  No need to get all snappy.”

Harry continues next to him as well, sliding his hands toward the straps of his bag.  “There’s this old lady who lives around here—well she doesn’t _really_ anymore, because she’s senile now and mostly stays in a retirement home.  Still owns the place, though.”

“Hopefully she’s not wacko enough to leave her front door open,” Louis replies.

Harry makes a turn, traversing upon the crunchy grass near the side of one of the apartment buildings, his eyes in search of that _certain_ blue, wooden birdhouse that hangs next to that _certain_ decorated window.

“Don’t say wacko,” he mumbles under his breath, Louis snorting in response.  “And no, but she _is_ senile enough to leave the window to her room wide open at all times.”

And then there it is, just as Harry remembers it.

He takes a moment to think back on the multiple times where he told Mrs. Margaret that she should remember to shut her window before he left for the day, and she always just smiled warmly and claimed she’d get around to it.  It’s a little crazy that he now finds himself grateful that she’d never actually listened to him.

The birdhouse remains old, beaten, and attached to the sill of the window, the ruffled curtains dangling off of it moving gently with the nighttime breeze.  Harry staring up at it brings Louis to stare up at it as well, the both of them standing there with bug eyes.

Eventually, they figure they’re going to have to get a move on, no matter how absolutely wild this seems at the moment.

It’s on the third story of the building though, so they definitely have to put in maximum effort in order to climb upon the railings that go up the side of it, Harry growing thankful of the fact that it seems as though many of the apartments are either vacant, or have people peacefully sleeping inside them.

There’s a lot of grunting and firm gripping involved, and Harry’s shoe slips off balance for more times than he’d like to admit as Louis remains far ahead of him and continues to offer his arm out for support, but they both eventually end up at their destination, Louis lifting himself in through the window first and Harry practically falling inside after him.

“Smells like rubbing alcohol in here,” Louis says quietly, his arms hugging himself as he takes slow steps toward the center of the bedroom.

Everything remains dark, but Harry can still see things somewhat, since he remembers roughly where everything is and can discern the dark figures.

He forgets that this isn’t the case for Louis once there’s a sound of him hitting something, followed by an abrupt “ _Ow!”_

“Sorry.  I think you just walked into one of her storage chests,” Harry says, sitting himself down against the perfectly made bed and moving his arms in order to slide the backpack off of himself.

“I’m gonna turn on a light—“

“ _No_ ,” Harry replies sharply as he kicks both of his shoes off using his heels.  “Who _knows_ how long it’s been since she’s been here?  Turning on the lights would make things look suspicious.”

“Okay, so I guess I’m just gonna keep crashing into things, then,” Louis retorts, the sound of him kicking something to the side following his sarcastic words.  “Even though my phone _does_ have a flashlight on it that would come in handy right about now.”

Harry rolls his eyes whilst pushing himself up and away from the bed, moving toward the window they’d entered through in order to push it closed.

Yes, it’s risky—just like turning on the lights is risky—but Harry figures closing the window is better than having someone hear noises coming from the inside of the house if they keep it open.

He keeps his hands braced against the windowsill for a while once it’s shut, simply blinking at the glass and gradually growing aware of the reality of what’s going on right now.

“So how do you know this lady, again?” Louis asks, wandering around the room and speaking absentmindedly.

Harry’s pulled out of his deeply cognizant state as he turns around, pressing his back against the window and still not having had his vision adjusted to the darkness.  “Some volunteer thing in high school—had to do community service for the elderly and stuff.”

“That’s wild,” Louis replies, leaning against the vintage dresser at the front of the bedroom and poking through the trinkets.  “Having a sense of community, and stuff.  Knowing neighbors and getting to know flatmates, and all that.”

Harry shrugs halfheartedly, resting his chin in his fist as he watches the boy.  “It’s not much, really.”

Louis picks up one of the pear-shaped trinkets, examining it thoroughly as it twists around in his hands.  “I wonder what that’s like.”

“I dunno, I’d kinda take being friends with people who can give me a thousand dollars on the spot over pretty much anythng,” Harry replies, moving over to the bed and sighing blissfully once he lets himself fall across it.

“Yeah, until you have to deal with not really knowing if anyone who surrounds you actually likes you,” Louis says, looking at Harry pointedly as the boy starts to see better within the darkened bedroom.

“Well, _I_ can go ahead and give you the answer to that, so you don’t have to contemplate it so much,” Harry mumbles, his words half-buried into the sheets as he lays on his side.

Louis stares at him, clearly waiting for him to continue and actually taking him seriously for some reason.

“They don’t,” Harry replies, his lips spreading into a smug grin as Louis scoffs.

“That makes me feel so much better.”

“In all honesty, I don’t think anyone in Famous Land _isn’t_ fake, if that softens the blow,” Harry claims, shuffling upon the bed in order to get himself situated underneath the quilted sheets, completely exhausted from the events of the day and more than ready to relent himself to sleep.

Louis gapes, dropping the trinket back down against the dresser and causing a faint thud.  “What about _me_?”

“You should know the answer to that,” Harry says easily, fluffing up the dusted pillow as he gets settled upon it.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if I can get some sleep after all that’s happened today.”

“You still have blood trailing down your face.”

“And you’re still talking to me after I said I’m going to sleep.”

Louis lets out a big huff, Harry hearing him move away from the dresser and towards the bed.  “Well, I don’t suppose you’d let me—“

“Nope,” Harry interrupts, already aware Louis’ going to ask if he can sleep in the bed with him.  He’d allowed Louis to sleep with him last night, and look where _that_ brought him.

“Okay then,” Louis replies, sucking his teeth.  “I guess I’ll just find somewhere else in this creepy…silent house to sleep alone.”

Harry doesn’t offer him any other words as he keeps his eyes closed, bringing the sheets up to his neck and wishing for nothing but a peaceful night of sleep in order to at least temporarily escape the very present trouble he’s in.

He finds it quite bold of Louis, honestly, when he hears him walking through the open bedroom door in order to wander through other areas of the house.  But then again, Louis is just a bold person, in pretty much the purest sense of the word.  It’s why they’re in this predicament.  It’s why Harry has this quiet, whispering desire to attach himself to him, so he can get to do things he’d otherwise never have the range to do. 

Harry tosses upon the mattress, facing the other way as he brings his eyes toward the tiny leather backpack that still sits near the edge of the bed.  Containing his work shirt, his sunglasses, and his keys.  Containing the both of their phones.  Containing the ring.

He moves his arm out of the sheets, reaching forth to grab it and bringing it close to himself as his eyes shut once again.

Yeah, Louis is out of his mind.  Yeah, sadly, this is just one of the many nonsensical things he’s dragged Harry into during one of his phases of revisiting him, and Harry has absolutely no idea what’s going to come after this.

But he _does_ know that now that he’s started with him, he has to stick with this idiotic boy every step of the way.

 

 


	3. Three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hehe  
> ([x](https://78.media.tumblr.com/cfcb765ecca30bac8544008029ff1de7/tumblr_inline_mqh7jc6EJr1qz4rgp.gif)) ([x](https://data.whicdn.com/images/55481854/large.jpg))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter: getaway - saint motel ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFNSp_o_I38))
> 
> ~

 

 

Harry’s woken up by a harsh tapping sensation against his bicep, and it goes on repeatedly as his eyes remain shut while he fights to continue his blissfully deep sleep.

When the tapping ceases to stop however, Harry finds himself emitting a tired moan and twisting his face so that it’s buried in the pillow, and—

Why does this pillow smell like dish soap?

That’s when he remembers.

His head snaps up as he blinks through heavily crusted eyes, unaware of when he’d taken his shirt off (it’s just something he does when he sleeps), and feeling discombobulated in many ways whilst setting his gaze upon the now bright bedroom, clean and organized and smelling of recently sprayed perfume.

“Good morning!”

The sound of the boy’s voice so close behind his ear brings Harry to wince, letting his face fall back against the pillow tiredly.

“So that was you tapping me.”

“Duh,” Louis says, reaching out in order to shove Harry’s arm some more, despite the boy’s attempts to bury himself back into his arms.  “I think I know how we should go about this—like, what to do next, and stuff.”

Harry mumbles through the fort he’s made out of his arms, still on the verge of slipping back into sleep.  Even though he hasn’t looked at a clock yet, he’s convinced Louis’ just gone and woken him up painfully early, seeing as the sun’s not even fully in the air yet.

“And what is that?”

He feels a shift on the bed, which he assumes is Louis getting himself situated upon the end of it near Harry.  “I know this guy who’s really knowledgeable about these kinds of things, and I think he can help us,” Louis begins, sounding far too animated for how early it is in the morning.  “I just need my phone and my jet.”

This is what lifts Harry’s head up out of the pillow, the boy using his fingers in order to move his tangled hair out of his face as he properly looks at Louis in all his morning energy.  The bruise on his cheek is more faint now, the cut on his lip is dried, and he’s wearing a large, loose buttoned down white sweater that he definitely didn’t have on last night.

“First,” Harry begins, his voice croaky as he props himself up on his elbows.  “No phone.”

Louis lifts a useless hand, his mouth already open and prepared to protest.  “But—“

Harry takes the boy’s wrist gently and sets it back down, holding his gaze as he repeats himself softly.  “No phone.”

Louis makes a show of pouting, even though he knows pouting was never something that actually got Harry to change his mind about anything.

“Second,” Harry begins, his thumb brushing the knuckles of Louis’ fingers.  “A private jet isn’t exactly discreet.  You know that right?”

“Well, the guy I know lives pretty far from here, and I’m sure my pilot is on my side about this whole thing and won’t rat us out, so we could just ask him to meet us somewhere secret—“

“There’s absolutely nowhere a _private jet_ could be secret,” Harry replies, furrowing his brows. 

Louis huffs and sits back on his heels, allowing the plaid of his boxers to peak out from underneath the sweater he’s wearing.  “How are we supposed to get there then?”

“Well.  There’s this thing…we normal, sane people do sometimes in order to take ourselves places,” Harry begins, his eyes cast upon their joined hands as their fingers intertwine.  “And it’s called taking the bus.  Have you ever heard of it?”

“Yes, and just thinking about it makes me nauseous.”

Harry lays himself back down in order to bury his amused smile into their hands, feeling more awake as he watches the boy’s face twist up in disgust.

“And how are we supposed to do _that_ without getting noticed?” Louis continues.

“I dunno, wear a hat or something,” Harry says with a shrug.  “I’m pretty sure no one knows or cares about who I am, and it _is_ only seven, so I doubt there’s very many people out and about anyway—“

“It’s six a.m.,” Louis corrects him.

“Six a.m.,” Harry says, feeling tired just thinking about it.  “You couldn’t let me get one more hour in, could you?”

“Not when there’s so much to be done,” Louis replies, leaning forward and laying a kiss near the side of Harry’s forehead before sliding himself back off the bed.  “Now I’m gonna go freshen up and see if Ms. Whatever-Her-Name-Is has a hat that I can borrow.”

Harry keeps his face rested upon the pillow, allowing the boy to do just that, and allowing himself to stay where he is so he can take some time to reflect.

He’s aware he has absolutely no idea of what Louis means when he says he has a friend who can help them, and even _less_ of an idea of who this guy even is and why they should trust him enough to essentially turn themselves in, but Harry decides that he’s going to trust him on this one.  He’s going to trust him for _once_ and keep all his doubts and skepticism to himself.

He attempts to rests his eyes once again, and actually manages to succeed for a good fifteen seconds—

And then the sound of Louis shouting expressively from not knowing how to work the shower comes about, and Harry’s shoving himself out of the bed.

 

~*~

 

Harry’s looking at himself in the mirror of Mrs. Margaret’s quite large bathroom, just having gotten finished bringing a rag to his face in order to get rid of the dried blood that’s been making him look all brooding and dark-sided, and now proceeding to gently lay a band-aid against the source of the cut, close to his hairline.  He’d also already helped himself to all of the refreshment powders and bathroom appliances that he can get his hands on in order to _not_ be reminded of the running catastrophe last night that left him drenched in sweat.

“God, I hope and pray that she never actually went out in this,” Harry hears Louis say from outside the bathroom, and he finally brings his gaze away from the mirror as he moves to peek his head back into the bedroom.  He’s immediately met with the sight of Louis wearing presumably one of Mrs. Margaret’s wigs, the bob of the hair quite blunt, and the purple hue of it just eccentric enough to bring a giggle to sprout from Harry’s lips as he grips the doorframe.

Louis turns his eyes away from the full length mirror he’d been standing in front of and towards Harry, and the fact that his eyes barely peek out from underneath the bangs is making Harry so much more amused by this.  “I found it in her closet.”

“I’m just glad I never had to see her in that thing,” Harry says, making his way across the room and toward the closet in order to do what Louis’ _supposed_ to be doing, which is finding clothes to wear in order to help them slip under the radar.

It’s helpful that Mrs. Margaret’s closet is packed, and even as he walks inside it and flips through many, _many_ heaps of flowery shit that he definitely doesn’t want to be seen in public wearing, he can’t imagine how he’d gotten so lucky in terms of conveniently remembering this place.

“Good luck finding something to wear that doesn’t ruin your whole sad boy aesthetic,” Louis says, sliding the wig off of his head as he re-enters the tight closet, setting the hairpiece back upon the hook he’d probably gotten it from.

Harry rolls his eyes as he pulls out what looks like one of her navy blue tracksuits, the top and bottoms remaining neatly hung together.  It’s one of those super-ancient type tracksuits that have a sort of towel-y material and drape off of a person horribly, but Harry truly can’t find anything else worth wearing in here.  It’s almost like Mrs. Margaret didn’t make her wardrobe with Harry in mind, or something.

“I can’t believe how ridiculous I look right now,” Louis comments, pulling a hat over his head that he’d found on the floor, buried in a dark corner of the closet.  It’s white, made of slightly fuzzy material, and it’s kind of like a bucket hat that makes the boy look like a cute kitten, in Harry’s opinion.

“It’s not bad, really,” Harry says whilst he works in order to zip up the ridiculously loose tracksuit, already knowing as Louis’ walking toward the exit of the closet again that he’s going to look at himself in the mirror for the hundredth time. 

“Yep, no one’s gonna suspect it’s me while looking like this,” Harry hears the boy say whilst he steps into the bottoms, one leg after the other.  “The public knows I’d never wear this.”

“Could you stop spending so much time gawking at yourself in the mirror and put on some pants?” Harry asks, having to tie the string at the front of the bottoms multiple times.  “I’d like to get out of here soon, since we’re sorta stacking our crimes on top of each other by even being here.”

“I know right?  It’s pretty exciting,” the boy says, entering the closet again and flipping through her section for folded pants.  Harry simply glares at the back of the boy’s head as he moves to exit the closet, not even knowing why he’s surprised to find the boy so smiley about all of this.

He finds himself standing in front of the mirror as well, hands on his hips as he decides this look definitely isn’t too bad.  He hopes he’s correct and absolutely no one cares enough to recognize him on the streets, because putting on a hat is something he doesn’t feel like doing right now.

“Now _you’re_ the one gawking at yourself in the mirror, aren’t you?” Louis asks from the closet, grunting as he slips on one of Mrs. Margaret’s large yoga pants.  “You get to look like a sexy athlete and I get to look like I need help crossing the street.”

A dimple makes its appearance in Harry’s cheek as he watches Louis walk back up, the boy getting himself situated between Harry and the mirror as he looks at himself _again_.

“Can’t believe this,” Louis says, toying with one of the buttons on the sweater he’s still wearing. 

Harry leans forward in order to get his chin rested upon Louis’ shoulder, catching the boy’s eye and allowing them to stare at each other through the mirror.  As his dimple deepens and Louis’ eyes ease into his, Harry slides his hands into the pockets of the track bottoms gently. 

“You look soft,” he says, his volume low enough for only Louis to hear, right up against his ear.

Louis’ grin has a shy twitch to it as it stretches, the both of them still holding gaze in the mirror of this foreign bedroom that they’ve broken into.  “Remember yesterday?  When you started calling me babe out of nowhere?” he asks.  “Let’s do that again.”

Harry lets his chin off of Louis’ shoulder, although still maintaining his dimples nonetheless as he walks toward the bed in order to grab the bag off of it.  “I was in a state of panic because we were about to die, and I wasn’t thinking,” he says easily, Louis crossing his arms as he leans his side against the wall.  “Trust me, we’re still not there yet.”

“We weren’t about to die,” Louis claims defensively.  “It was just a minor car accident, at _most_.”

“Louis, I literally passed away for two seconds last night,” Harry retorts, unzipping the bag in order to dig inside for his sunglasses.  He holds them out for Louis as he speaks, the boy already frowning down at them.  “Like, I felt life leave my body for a moment.  Seriously.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Louis says, walking towards the boy and snatching the glasses right out of his hand in order to get them on over his eyes.

They spend only the next few minutes planning out how they’re going to reach their destination, Harry using _his_ phone in order to search online for the bus routes, and having to fully shut _Louis’_ phone off because of the fact that the boy keeps whining about it.  After they find departing times and such, they pretty much go _what the hell_ and decide to take a bunch of other shit Mrs. Margaret has in order to get through this journey, such as more wearable clothes from her closet, additional grooming necessities, and despite Harry telling him not to, Louis takes a freaking _shiv_ that he’d found in one of her drawers, claiming he never knows when he’ll need to defend himself. 

Before they know it, they’re off, only one of Mrs. Margaret’s tote bags hanging off of Louis’ shoulder as they find themselves discreetly slipping out through the front door rather than the window (Harry making sure to open the window again before they leave, however), and thanking the heavens that there’s no one around to witness them exit her suite.

It isn’t long before they’re waiting at one of the near bus stops, no other person waiting with them as seven a.m. just begins to make its approach.  Harry guesses the fact that Louis wakes up so early has come in handy for something, for once.

It’s currently that particular point in the morning where the pretty colors being cast upon the sky are nearing blue, and there’s probably an average of one person walking upon the sidewalk, driving by on the street, or approaching the bus stop in order to wait with them every ten minutes.  Truly desolate.

Once they finally do board the bus, and Harry swipes his bus card before handing the driver a dollar for Louis (bless the boy, he only pays with electronic black cards or whatever), they’re walking towards the back of the transit, only three other passengers already sitting on the bus as Harry suddenly feels just a touch more tense.

It’s quite normal for people to glance towards passengers once they enter the bus, but Harry can’t help that faint feeling in his chest that’s questioning whether or not the glances have to do with _other_ things, like people recognizing them from the fact that they’ve been plastered all over the news or something.  As he finally gets himself settled within a seat, Louis sliding in next to him, he genuinely grows weary of the fact that he hasn’t allowed himself nor Louis to look at anything online.

But he shakes his head at himself, because looking at that stuff is only going to make things worse, freak Harry out more, and drive Louis to go on another one of his life threatening rampages.  This is fine.  They’re _fine_ right now.

“This is so… _weird,_ ” Louis says under his breath, Harry taking notice of the boy’s fingers twiddling with one another upon his lap.  The canvas tote bag lies on the ground under his feet.  “Like, I’m just sitting here, being a normal person, and I haven’t attracted any crowd.”

A corner of Harry’s mouth tugs upward as the forward movement of the bus jostles them a bit.  “God, imagine living like this every day,” he replies.  “It’s just exhausting.”

Louis delicately shoves Harry’s side with his elbow, causing the boy to squirm and shoo him away.

“This is nice actually,” Louis adds, sighing restfully.  “Don’t have to worry about fixing my hair every two seconds or showing the better half of my face to every potential camera.”

“The better half of your face?”

“Yes, Harry.  Everyone knows there’s a side of your face that looks prettier than the other.”

“Of course there is…” Harry begins, his attention half distracted as he catches something out of the corner of his eye—well, _someone_.

After their initial arrival onto this thing, they’d clearly already experienced the fleeting glances in their direction from strangers, and for the most part, everyone has gone back to minding their own business by now.

But unless Harry’s seeing things, he’s pretty certain this one girl, who sits just a few rows ahead of them in one of the seats that face towards the center aisle of the bus, has been staring at them nonstop, her eyes hardly peeking over the newspaper she has open in front of herself.  The fact that she’s even reading a newspaper in this day and age is weird already (especially with how young she appears), and enough to make her look just a hint shady.

“Glad you noticed her too,” Louis says quietly.

Harry turns his gaze toward Louis, blinking and trying to shrug off the suspicion.  “Hmm?”

“That girl.  She definitely knows who we are,” Louis says, speaking down at his chest, Harry watching his fists clench.  “She’s probably reading it on the god damn newspaper right fucking _now_ , for goodness’ sake—“

“Louis.  Chill,” Harry tells him, also trying to convince himself to do the same. 

When the girl’s eyes finally shift down to what she’s supposed to be reading, Harry _does_ get himself to chill out a bit.  They’re obviously both just in a state of outrageous paranoia, and they need to calm down if they’re going to get through just the _first_ bus ride of several that are going to help them reach their destination.

He places his hand on top of Louis’ fist, using the strokes of middle finger to aid him in simmering down.

The lenses over Louis’ eyes move down to their hands, the boy breathing more gently as Harry’s dimple makes a reappearance.  “It’s crazy,” he whispers, Harry’s gaze shifting to watch the boy’s mouth move.  “You’re the one that’s been having to calm _me_ down so much lately, when you’re usually the time bomb.”

He’s definitely right, Harry thinks. 

Louis always used to call him a ticking time bomb because of how he’s usually quiet, sarcastic, and nonchalant (according to the boy (Harry personally doesn’t see it)), but when he gets angry, he gets _angry_ , and the buildup is that of a ticking time bomb (also according to Louis).  Harry just thinks it’s an excuse for the boy to laugh at him when he starts to get mad about something.

From then on, they both manage to feel more at ease as they allow the views of the city flying by upon the bus windows to soothe them, Harry starting to feel a strange sense of tranquility that he hasn’t felt in a while as he sits among the still quietness.

He doesn’t know when, but at some point he finds himself drifting in and out of sleep, his head somehow seeking its comfort on Louis’ shoulder as the rough roads continue to move them around.

He figures now is a better time than ever to get that extra hour of sleep in, and eventually, that’s exactly what happens.

He’s woken up when Louis’ tickling his chin and letting him know they have to switches buses soon, and eventually they find themselves walking down the center aisle and stepping back into the public, except this time around it’s underneath the large sheltered area of the central bus station.

As long as Louis keeps the sunglasses over his eyes, the hat upon his head, and his eyes down, there’s really no need for them to worry much.  They get to the next bus peacefully, sitting themselves down in the back corner, and Harry immediately going back to set his head on the boy’s shoulder and rest his eyes.

He’s not brought out of sleep until much later this time, feeling slept-out once Louis’ fingers are running through his hair and helping to wake him up again.

“C’mon babe, we have one more transfer left,” Louis says, his tone gentle as Harry scratches at his nose.  He can hear the general hum of a moderate littering of people upon the city bus, talking on the phone, laughing with friends, and listening to music, and he suddenly feels much more normal now, rather than quiet and on edge like he’d been when this journey had started.

“What’s next?” Harry asks, blinking his eyes open and keeping his head where it is.

“We just have to catch a ride to his place, then we don’t have to get car sick anymore,” Louis giggles, Harry feeling the gentle huffs cascade over his cheek.  “I already scheduled an Uber for us.  Are you proud of me?”

Harry’s lips stretch wide as he lifts his head from the boy’s shoulder, looking at him within close range and feeling admittedly amused.  “Very impressive, being able to do that without my help.  I actually _am_ very proud.”

“And I used _your_ phone, since you already confiscated mine, and I respect your wishes,” Louis says, far too proud of himself.  He crosses his fingers over his chest thoroughly.  “And I swear, I did not read a single news widget, go on the internet—none of that.”

Harry finds himself pleased as well, satisfied at Louis’ ability to actually _listen_ to him for once and practice a little something called self restraint—but then his face goes blank as another thought crosses his mind.

“Wait—how did you get into my phone?”

Louis brings his hand toward Harry’s face, patting at his cheek twice as he speaks.  “It’s kinda easy when your passcode is still my birthday.”

Harry’s certain his cheeks are blushed as he looks down, because Louis definitely wasn’t supposed to figure that out.  He should’ve changed it a while ago, actually.  He just never got around to it, fuck.

“Ease up, love,” Louis says, moving some of Harry’s hair behind his ear.  “If your passcode wasn’t still the same we wouldn’t have had an Uber on the way right now.” He’s already pulling the cord in order to stop the bus by the end of his sentence, Harry biting the inside of his cheek and guessing the boy is right, no matter how much embarrassment is settling inside him right now.

So they’re exiting yet another bus, life all around significantly busier than it was at the crack of the morning, and Harry has absolutely no idea where they are as they begin walking upon the sidewalks of whatever town they’re in.  As Louis’ holding Harry’s phone out in front of himself absurdly, following the GPS as he struggles to take them to exactly where the Uber is supposed to be picking them up, Harry reminds himself to just trust the boy.  He hasn’t left them stranded on a desert so far, so that’s good.

“Here,” Louis says, coming to a stop on a curb near a gas station, the air heavily scented with cigarettes and rubber as trucks pull up near the parking lot.  Louis holds the phone out for Harry to take as he grins proudly.  “This is the pickup point.”

Harry pockets his phone before he brings both of his palms up toward Louis, the boy happily clapping his hands with Harry’s, before attaching their fingers and bringing them down in between their bodies. 

“This is so fun, like—doing regular things and stuff.  I haven’t even had to take a picture with anybody in _five hours_.”

“It’s more peaceful this way,” Harry says, finding himself being brought down as Louis continues to sweetly tug on his hands.

It doesn’t take long for their ride to arrive, and when it does, they’re sliding into the backseat, Harry hoping and praying that this ride is going to be just as silent and successful as all of the other ones.

The only part that doesn’t seem to actually happen is the _silent_ part, seeing as once they’re traveling down the street, the only thing their Uber wants to do is talk to them.  They maintain a polite and compliant demeanor as they’re being asked a bunch of nauseating (and strangely nosy) questions about where they’re from and where they’re going, and it _is_ kind of fun, coming up with fascinating background stories about themselves on the spot.

Once they’re finally out of there, however, and Harry is giving the driver five stars on his phone as he lazily drags his feet behind Louis, he’s surprisingly now more than eager to be in a stranger’s house and finally have somewhere to _rest_.

They find themselves trudging up _many_ flights of stairs within some standard apartment complex that has a bunch of moss running up the side of it, and Harry doesn’t even comment on the fact that as he, himself, is struggling to keep up and still sore from last night’s speed chase, Louis is practically skipping up the steps, humming as he keeps the tote steady on his shoulder.

Obviously, the boy has been keeping fit during their time apart.

They’re eventually stepping in front of a faded red door with some gargoyle-looking thing set on the ground outside of it, Harry almost delirious with fatigue and Louis knocking with purpose as the thick, snowballing scent of—is that fucking _weed?_ —begins to enter his nostrils, and—

“This is my weed man, by the way,” is what Louis decides to say, now of _all_ times just as the door knob in front of them is being twisted.

Harry’s lips part with plans to actually utter some kind of disbelieving response as his eyebrows furrow at the boy, but then the door is being opened and his eyes are tugged back forward.

What his eyes are met with, is the sight of some young looking blonde boy, probably of the same age as them as he wears a comfortable hooded sweatshirt and grips the door with a lazy hand.  He looks pretty bored and unimpressed as he stares at them for a moment, the sound of someone moving around in the background catching Harry’s attention a bit.

“It’s that idiot who robbed a store in plain sight,” he says with a raised voice, his words followed by feet shuffling up to the door.

 _Then_ Harry’s met with the sight of some guy, his shaved head peeking in past the doorframe first as the blonde dude steps to the side, quickly followed by him fully stepping into view as he grasps the doorframe.  Harry prides himself on not being one to make wild assumptions based off of miniscule things, but as he allows himself to take in the bleached blonde shave he has upon his near-bald head, the stud piercing that powers through his bottom lip, and his logo’d shirt that’s clearly had the sleeves ripped off by hand, he can’t help but know exactly where this is going.  And where it’s going doesn’t look too great.

He’s also quite good-looking—almost in a way that’s factual, so the longer Harry thinks about why Louis and him are good friends, the more his blossoming jealousy grows.

“I knew I’d find you at my front door sooner or later,” he says, his tone mellow as his grin grows.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Louis just about bursts happily, stepping forward in order to get on his tippy toes and put his all into a hug, the guy barely reciprocating it and offering nothing more than a halfhearted pat against his back.  “How could I possibly _not_ come to you for help?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn replies, shrugging the boy off as he turns back toward his place.  “Come on in.”

And so they do, Harry following hesitantly after Louis, the boy already talking Zayn’s ear off, asking about how his garden is doing, along with other things that Harry couldn’t care less about as he focuses on the overwhelming scent of weed that’s currently punching him in the face, repeatedly.

There’s no weed in _sight,_ however, as they languidly journey through the man’s rather peculiar and stuffy place.  There’s not a single foot of area among any wall that _isn’t_ covered with a poster of some sort—Harry not even having the capacity to figure out what anything on the posters actually mean, because it just looks like a bunch of abstract, emo stuff (are they obscure rock bands?  He doesn’t know).  There are many moving boxes that they have to step over, several of them labeled with black marker that’s been scribbled so violently to the point where the words are unintelligible.  There’s a sort of quiet chaos about this place, in Harry’s opinion.  Everything, from the tall speakers against the corners of the walls in different rooms, to the various desks filled to the brim with useless items, make this place bordering on being properly cluttered.  Harry doesn’t even realize they’re in the living room once Zayn’s sitting down upon a velvet sofa that’s in the midst of everything. 

He gestures at the both of them to sit upon the rather small couch of the same green color across from him, taking a moment to stand himself up and reach over in order to shove all the magazines off to the side and onto the floor so they can have space to sit.

It seems the culture shock that Harry’s getting from being here hasn’t spread to Louis, the boy sitting comfortably and making it evident he’s been here several times before.

There’s a moment where they simply find themselves sitting across from each other, the couches just close enough for it to feel weird and Harry just now registering the standing fan in the corner of the room continuing to spin and hum.  There’s a giant cardboard box in between them that serves as some sort of coffee table, so that’s good, Harry guesses.

The curve upon Zayn’s lips is growing almost maniacally as he has his fingers joined upon his lap and sits forward, and to say Harry is completely lost on what’s going on right now would be an understatement.

“So,” Zayn begins, his voice barely going above the volume of the fan.  “You really did it.”

Louis runs his fingers through his hair as he sits up, unknowingly pushing the hat off of his head as frustration clearly is already beginning to brew within him.  “No—that’s the thing,” he says.  “We _didn’t_.”

The grin that Zayn had been wearing fades a little, his expression now replaced with something more perplexed.  “C’mon, you know you don’t have to lie to me.”  His tongue swipes over the stud on his bottom lip briefly as he leans himself in a little more, as though there’s anyone else around that could even listen in on their conversation.  “Mommy’s money finally running out?  I thought you owned like, five businesses or something—“

“ _Zayn_ ,” Louis says heavily, his head tilted to the side.  “I’m being serious.  We didn’t _intentionally_ steal _anything_.”

“That’s not what everyone’s saying,” comes the nonchalant voice of what seems to be his blonde friend, stepping over Zayn’s legs with a handheld Nintendo (people still have those?) in one hand and a practically finished blunt in the other hand as he hollows his cheeks out in order to inhale whatever he can from it.

“Well, I don’t _care_ for what everyone’s saying,” Louis says sharply, his hard gaze set upon him as the boy takes his place next to Zayn on the couch, rested sideways with his back against Zayn’s shoulder.

Louis turns his gaze back toward Zayn, shaking his head disapprovingly.  “And honestly, I don’t care for this one either, Zayn.  He’s not very nice, and I’ve seen you do better.”

“He has a _name_ , and it’s Niall, dickface.  And I’ve seen you do better too,” Zayn replies, Harry just remaining quiet through all of the offense he’s taking right now.  “Now just tell me what _actually_ happened, so I can get around to figuring this out.”

“Not much to it, really.  Harry and I were in there, we were looking at rings, Harry tried one on, and then he walked out without realizing he never took it off.  That’s literally it.”

There’s another pause that ensues, save for the continuing sound of the fan, _now_ paired with the tapping of the buttons on Niall’s Nintendo as the scent of weed begins to grow even thicker.

And then—

“Wait, who’s Harry?”

Louis’ quite aggressive when he pulls on the fabric of Harry’s tracksuit at the arm, shaking him around as he nearly yells at the man in front of them.  “ _This_ is Harry!”

“Yeah, um…” Harry begins, eyes down in between the couches as he speaks lowly.  “I am.”

He guesses it’s a good thing, the fact that his identity is still widely unknown to the public.

“Now could you tell us how to fix this, please?” Louis continues desperately.  “Because that’s why I came here.”

 “Okay, okay, you can calm down,” Zayn says, gesturing with his hands in order to indicate simmering the boy.  “You’ve read the reports, right?  About the cameras?”

Both Louis and Harry shake their heads simultaneously, although Harry feels Louis’ eyes on the side of his face for half a second.  He really doesn’t care what Zayn’s about to say—the boy isn’t getting his phone.

Zayn presses his palm against his forehead for a moment as he continues to lean against his knees, Niall sucking fruitlessly against his blunt for another time.  “God I’m dealing with idiots,” he sighs, before speaking again in order to beat Louis to it.  “It was reported that they were working on the cameras while you two were there.  They were getting them upgraded, or some shit—point is, they definitely weren’t on and functioning, and the owner claimed he didn’t worry too much about it because he trusted you as a highly respected man or whatever.  Didn’t think they would have anything to worry about anyway while you were there.”

“…and?” Louis asks, his voice almost hushed as it seems both he and Harry are overly eager to see where this is going.  “What does that mean?”

“It means that you didn’t do it,” Zayn replies easily, letting his shoulders shrug up and down as Niall’s head moves along with it.

“But…we did,” Louis says, confused.  “I mean, it was an accident, but we _did_ do it.”

“No you didn’t.”

Louis speaks matter-of-factly, nodding his head purposefully.  “Yes, we _did_.”

“No, you _didn’t_ ,” Zayn repeats again, as though it’s just easy to say.  “They’re going to have to find some other way to explain how exactly, _that_ ring—“ he points at the bag upon Harry’s back (how…) “—got out of that store, because it wasn’t you two.  There’s no proof that it was.  No one _saw_ anything—no one was paying attention to it when you walked out.  There are no eyewitnesses coming forward.  No proof.”

Harry’s sure he’s growing bug eyed as he just sits there, trying to make out even one comprehensible part of Zayn’s reasoning right now.  He watches the man in all his laidback, punk greatness and tattooed arms, his boy or whatever the fuck still sucking fruitlessly on a blunt and playing a Nintendo.  He’d trusted Louis on this, and he partially still does, but right now, he’s not sure he can just sit back and look pretty much longer.

“Louis, why did you bring us to this guy?  He’s obviously high as shit.”

Louis takes in air through his mouth, obviously at a loss for words as well as he prepares to reply to Harry, but Zayn beats him to it, his eyes now focusing purely on Harry for the first time since they’d gotten here.

“First of all, you little smart ass,” Zayn begins, putting up a finger at the boy.  “Everyone knows that the first rule of this business is that you don’t smoke the product, so actually, I’m not high at all.  And second, you should be the last one judging a book by its cover, since the owner keeps saying he knew you were the _type to cause trouble_ as soon as he saw you.”

Harry’s lips part, his brows knitting as he feels as though he’s being unjustly attacked right now.  “I didn’t—I’m not _judging_ anyone—“

“I get it, I get it,” Zayn interrupts, putting up a hand in order to silence him.  He gestures at his face, one side of his lips curving upward as he speaks.  “You see a brown guy covered in tattoos, you automatically assume he’s just some pothead who doesn’t care about anything—“

Harry opens his mouth again, but he finds himself silenced by the man’s hand another time.

“But in actuality, I’m a business man, who has managed to dodge the cops more times than I can count, so you’d be better off if you sat there and listened politely—“

His own mouth is being open in order to fire back before he’s silenced once _again_ , this time by Louis as the boy puts his hand over his chest, gently pushing him to rest back against the seat.

“And he _will_ ,” Louis says nicely, turning his manic grin towards Harry as he repeats himself.  “He will.  Just, please.  Help us.”

Zayn offers Harry one more lingering look, his lids heavy over his eyes before he slides his gaze back over to meet Louis’. 

“All we have to do now is get the ring out of your possession,” he begins, his palms rubbing over each other as he starts to look more uncertain of himself.  “Which is tricky for a lot of reasons.  You’ve got options though…like, for instance, planting it on someone else…”  His eyes move between the both of them for a few seconds, as if taking the time to decipher their thoughts on that option.

“I don’t like that,” Harry says, stretching out the sleeves of his jacket as he toys with them.  “Seems kinda mean.”

“I mean, I’ve done it plenty of times, so you’d at least know we wouldn’t get caught,” Zayn says, his smile growing almost proudly.

Harry can see Louis slowly beginning to nod in his peripheral, so he makes a point to fully turn his head toward him, not even having to say a word in order to get the point across that framing someone else is not something they’re about to do.

Louis lets out one of his infamous spoiled huffs, followed by a pout as he faces Zayn again.  “What are the other options?” he asks, throwing a hand in the air.

“Well, I could also just find a taker for it, since you know, reselling that thing could pretty much make a person financially set for a good amount of time,” Zayn offers.  “Of course, it’s _extremely_ risky, which is why I, personally, wouldn’t resell it.  Too many potential narks, way too much on the line.  And quite frankly, I'm not exactly gung-ho about simply giving it to someone else either. But if Curly here has too many morals to plant it on someone,” he continues, gesturing at the boy.  “Then it’s what we’re gonna have to do.  You simply have to get it out of your possession, out of your hands so that they wouldn’t find anything even if they searched your entire lives up and down.”

Louis’ looking just a bit dazed, which makes sense, because this is quickly becoming a lot to process for the both of them.  “…okay, then.  Let’s do that,” he says, before glancing at Harry for confirmation as he nods a few times, hand coming upon the boy’s shoulder.  “Let’s do that.”  And Harry offers one lone nod right back, being quite sure that he doesn’t have any other choice.

“But _first_ ,” Zayn cuts in, his voice just abrupt enough to break apart whatever silent comfort they’d been giving each other.  “You two are fugitives, so you can’t just continue on looking like yourselves.”

Harry’s eyes narrow for a moment, his mind blanking in terms of what _else_ this is going to lead to (he’s pretty sure Zayn’s just having fun with them now).

“What…what do you mean?”

Zayn moves his arm where Niall lays against him, mumbling the boy’s name as it seems he finally comes out of his Nintendo-induced trance.

“On it,” the boy replies, already getting himself up from the couch and stepping over Zayn’s legs yet again.

“I’m not saying, like…a full blown _disguise_ ,” Zayn says, seeming as though he’s envisioning something as he squints his eyes at them.  “Just something to make you look a little less like yourselves, so that people don’t immediately see two brown-haired white dudes and automatically know it’s the ones that’ve been all over T.V. for the last twenty-four hours.”

“No one even knows what I look like, though,” Harry replies.

“Yeah, a lot of the fan pictures from outside of the shop were far away and blurry,” Zayn begins, just as Niall’s making his return, this time holding a closed, wardrobe box of some sort instead of weed and a handheld video game.  “But everyone could somewhat describe you—and you know what the first thing was that everyone immediately used to identify you?”

Harry just stares at him wordlessly, Niall setting the box down upon the cardboard in front of them and taking the time to kneel down next to it as he works to undo the latch on the side of it.

“Your big, curly hair.”

Harry ignores the sudden tight feeling in his chest, instead opting to just shut down whatever Zayn’s attempting to suggest.  “Well, that could be anybody.  And we got all the way here without being noticed just fine, so—“

“ _Oooh,_ hair dye!” Louis exclaims excitedly, getting down on his knees in front of the table just as Niall’s finished opening the box. 

Harry’s blinking eyes move toward the open box, which is quite packed full of various hair dyes of every hue, sharp scissors that look as though they’ve been in his possession since the nineties, what looks like some kind of handmade tattoo pen that could actually be _very_ dangerous for infections, and various other questionable items (contacts, piercing guns, razors, etc.) that Harry doesn’t see himself utilizing anytime soon.

“I want the red,” Louis says, quickly grabbing the bottle and bringing it to his chest.

“I was kinda thinking it would make sense for Harry to be the one to dye his hair, since you sort of went through a hair dying phase last time you went ballistic, and people would be expecting it this time too,” Zayn comments.

Louis looks up at him as though he’s ridiculous, half-laughing as he speaks.  “A hair dying phase?  I dyed my hair blue _once_ and I wasn’t going _ballistic_.”

Ah, Harry remembers that.  Remembers watching that on T.V. out of the corner of his eye, long before he ever knew the boy personally.  He definitely doesn’t want to be reminded of it though.  Not right now.

“You dyed your hair _neon_ blue, and you kept throwing things out of your fifteenth story hotel window, wearing weird, provocative clothing—“  Zayn pauses, before his memory quickly jogs.  “And you were dating that old man.”

“Oh my god.  For the last time, he was only thirty-eight!”

“Yeah, and you were like, nineteen.”

The overlapping sounds of their debate, along with Niall snickering underneath his breath as he digs through the piercing rings, manages to stir up a bottle of annoyance inside Harry as he sits there, slowly growing certain that this whole thing may be a train wreck waiting to happen.

“Just face it.  You go through destructive phases, just like every other celebrity,” Zayn says at some point.  “You haven’t even come to me for an ounce in like a month, so I knew you were gonna lose it sooner or later.  Brendan called it.”

“I was trying to stop smoking, thank you very much,” Louis replies, mussing up his own hair as he dances his fingers through it.  “And what does Brendan know?”

“A lot, I would assume, since you guys were banging like last week.”

The tight feeling in Harry’s chest pretty much vanishes now, and is instead replaced with more of a sinking feeling—as though he may completely drop through the floor and vanish there.  He remains still and indifferent, however.  He barely even feels it when Louis touches his arm.

“Don’t listen to him, Harry,” Louis says, Niall’s snickers increasing in volume.

“What?” Zayn asks, his eyes growing wide as he seems to finally stop looking so smug for once.  “It’s not like I’m lying.  I supply for a lot of people, so naturally they give me the tea on a bunch of stuff.”

“Yeah, but it was like…” Louis begins, taking a moment to think.  “Two weeks ago, at the least.”

And.  That doesn’t really make Harry feel any better.  It only makes him travel back to two days ago, when he’d dumped the drink on Louis’ head.  He always goes back to that.

Why is he risking his life for this boy again?

“Two weeks ago, then.  Sorry for being so imprecise,” Zayn says sarcastically, putting his hands up.  “I didn’t know this was your _boyfriend_.”

Harry shakes his head, speaking faintly as his mind remains mostly somewhere else.  “Oh, I’m not.”

“See?  Look what you’ve done,” Louis snaps, gesturing at Zayn as Harry feels himself submerge underwater again.  “We were just getting along and I swear you are the most _talkative_ weed man on earth…”

Harry’s tuning life out again.

And all he does is grip the straps of his backpack as he sits there, wondering what events have led him up to this very point. 

“I’m gonna go look at stuff,” he announces, not even knowing if his voice is loud enough for anyone to hear.  It seems no one really cares as the sounds of Zayn and Louis going back and forth continue in his ears, he himself rising up from the couch in order to walk around.

He roams for a while, dragging his fingers against whatever he can touch as he wanders from room to room, quickly finding that this is a rather huge apartment.  It’s quite obvious that Zayn hasn’t lived here long due to all the boxes, but there are other elements of the place that make that seem false, such as the weird stains on the walls, and the chipped ceiling material.

He maneuvers his way through many of the rooms for a while, the sounds of the rest of them continuing to talk over one another distant and muffled in his ears as he toys with the needle on a dusty vinyl player in one of the smaller rooms.  He even manages a tiny sneeze in reaction to the dust, rubbing at his nose as the sight of a back porch outside catches the corner of his eye.

He ends up stepping out and onto it after finding the door already propped open, and somehow, Zayn even manages to make his wooden _porch_ captivating, what with the plants bordering the entire area in small pots, along with the wind chime hung up high that produces a calming melody as the light wind causes the pieces to bump against each other.

He comes to a gradual stop as he’s passing by the folding table in the corner, taking notice of the messy stack of Polaroid photos scattered on top of it, among the other random rocks and saved airplane tickets.

His lip sort of curves upward on one side as he uses a finger to move through them, finding that the stack consists of a bunch of high-spirited pictures of him alongside several notable pop stars, actors, and otherwise famous people that Harry’s definitely able to recognize.  None of them appear to be taken in a professional, public setting though—it’s all laidback couches, and pillow forts, and socks, and hoodies.  He really is big shit, huh.

Harry moves onto the plants next, feeling grateful that this personal tour is actually aiding him a bit in coming back down to earth.

He barely ghosts his fingers across the spines of one of the mini cactuses he finds lined up along the tall platform, his eyes close and observant, and the air around him cool and comforting. 

He’d honestly love a place like this.  It has so much personality though, and he’s lacking in that aspect, so it may be a little difficult.

“So you’re really not gonna change anything up?”

The sound of the question brings Harry’s eyes to dart toward the entrance of the porch, and he doesn’t know if it pleases him or not, finding Niall walking up slowly with his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie.  He has sort of a sleepy look to him that’d been on his face since they’d gotten here, and he wears no socks on his feet, which only brings Harry to the conclusion that he’s quite free of caring about much.

“Change what up?” Harry asks finally, realizing his big eyes aren’t really helping anything.

“Your appearance,” he continues, leaning his side against the frayed bricks of the wall.  “I don’t really care about how this goes for you guys or anything, but your hair is pretty recognizable.  You’d be stupid to take the risk.”

Harry doesn’t even realize he’s moving his fingers through the strands at the back of his neck as he speaks.  “I just…I dunno,” he replies, almost meekly.

“Well, your boyfriend went to go use the shower in the guest room, turn his hair red and stuff,” Niall says, shrugging as he already begins to drag his feet back toward where he came from.  “You might wanna at least think about it…”

And then he’s out once again, Harry being sure he’s never going to figure out why that boy is here exactly.

He’d always been thinking about cutting his hair though.

Pretty much all the way up until the moment Louis came back, and caressed it, and told him how beautiful he was, and fucking lured him in again, Harry falling for it like the utter idiot he’s always been.

Harry finds himself dallying through the place some more, journeying back to square one once he’s looking at the cardboard box coffee table again, the accessory box open and messy upon it.  He can faintly hear Zayn and Niall talking in one of the rooms, and he can definitely hear a shower shutting off in one of the other rooms. 

He sort of stares into the box for a moment, pursing his lips and wondering what’s going to happen next.

He doesn’t have to wonder for long though, because rather quickly, he’s reaching down for the pair of viciously sharp scissors and sliding it into his right pocket.

He heads for where he had heard the shower coming from, entering into what he guesses is the guest room, since it’s the only place where things aren’t cluttered and customized in every corner.

The bathroom door is open as the light from inside of it flows into the mostly dimmed out room, and Harry casts his gaze upon the boy, only to find him standing in front of the wide mirror in only his boxers, combing his fingers through his dampened, newly colored hair.

He gets on his tippy toes upon the pale, suede bathroom rug (something he does when he’s excited), and speaks without turning toward Harry.  “It’s so cute, right?”

 _And you were fucking another guy just last week, right?_ is what he wants to ask, but he restrains himself.

“Whatever,” is what comes out of his mouth instead as he moves toward the central, queen sized bed, sliding his backpack off in order to set it down upon the mattress, which is void of any pillows or sheets.  Awesome.  “I think I’m gonna shower too.”

He hears Louis sighing, followed by his footsteps as he exits the bathroom.  “Harry, don’t be mad,” he says softly, Harry already growing tense as he feels the boy behind him.  “It was just one of those wild nights, really.  Shouldn’t mean anything.”

Harry finds himself shrugging the boy’s hand off before it even touches him—simply sensing it before it happens—and mumbling exhaustedly as he moves toward the bathroom.  “’m not mad.”

He pushes the door closed behind himself nonetheless, because he’s not too keen on hearing whatever else Louis has to say.

And he’s not mad.  At least not at Louis.  Louis is free, and he’s single, and he has so many people practically begging at his feet on a daily basis just to spend one night with him.  He’d be a man of steel not to give in.

It’s Harry’s fault for being so stupid.  Again.

After spending a good fifteen minutes scouring the bathroom closet for whatever he can find (and surprisingly finding everything he needs, unopened and new), trying to get the shower to work, and having too much dignity to go back out and ask Louis, he’s in the shower, doing what he does best while in the shower; letting the water wash over his limp body and allow him to feel something, even if it is the sting of the water getting cold.

He’d also brought the scissors in there with him, not quite sure of what he’s going to do with them yet as he stares at them out of the corner of his eye, his forehead remaining pressed against the shower wall as they rest against the tiny surface next to the bar soap.

And then he decides, fuck it.

Before he can really process the decision, he’s chopping strands of his hair off by the chunk, not even caring for technique, or making sure it’s even, or not clogging up the drain—he just cuts it, and with every heavy snip he hears, sharp against his ears, he feels just a touch better.  Freer, even.

He gets to a point where he can no longer feel his hair grazing the bottom of his neck like he usually does, causing the shower to feel that much colder as the water comes down upon him.

Once he’s out of the shower, and pulling his clothes back on, and avoiding looking in the mirror for as long as he possibly can, he feels more refreshed, which is good.  Sure, he’s now trapped a million miles away from his home with people he can’t even trust, and he’s also probably a wanted criminal, but for now, he feels refreshed.

When he finally _does_ look into the mirror after the fog has cleared up and there’s literally nowhere else to hide, he’s pleasantly surprised with what he sees, because it isn’t that bad. 

As he runs his fingers through as much of it as he can, taking in the small wavy strands (as well as the icky band aid that’s still on his head), he realizes that it actually isn’t bad in the least bit.

He lets himself out of the bathroom, actually a little relieved to find that Louis isn’t there and he finally has a corner to himself.

It’s something he kind of can’t stop himself from doing at the moment, stepping in front of the dresser in the room in order to look at himself in the mirror once again, his fingers working in order to comb his hair upward, getting some kind of brushed-back look going.

The sight of articles of clothing and withered books littering the wooden surface of the dresser only shows Harry how despicable it is that Zayn calls this a guest room.

But the second thought he has in regards to all the _stuff_ shoved into tight spaces in here is the fact that he should utilize some of it, which brings him to pull open the drawers, feeling that his look needs just a little _something_ more. 

It’s just that he hasn’t changed his appearance in a really long time, and this is kind of exciting.

As he’s rummaging through the drawer full of vape pens, fucking CD players, underwear that he _hopes_ is clean, and even more books that he doesn’t know what to do with, his gaze is caught by what looks like a faded, white bandana, folded in such a way that it’s more of a headband than anything else.

It isn’t long before he’s securing it at the back of his head, watching himself in the mirror and hearing the background noises of Louis laughing hysterically about something in the living room (which probably wasn’t even that funny).  The bandana certainly masks the uneven, choppiness of his new do, so that helps. 

Some of his hair falls over the bandana, his quickly air-drying strands fluffing up a bit, and some of his hair remains under it, and.  There, that’s better.  Now he’s probably less likely to be mistaken for that guy who was at the jewelry shop with Louis Tomlinson, whoever that was.

He’s exiting the room after a while of staying to himself for a prolonged period, dangling his feet off of the bed, and blinking up at the ceiling thoughtfully.  His feet actually have to do a bit of searching upon realizing Louis and Zayn are in fact, _not_ in the living room, and instead laughing it up in some other remote area within this maze of an apartment.

He isn’t surprised when whatever Zayn and Louis had been talking about completely brings itself to a stop once he comes into view of the den.

Niall is nowhere to be seen, Zayn’s eyes are up and blinking at Harry first, and after Louis takes notice of this (his back turned to Harry as he sits in the leather armchair), he brings his gaze to Harry as well, his eyebrows rising upward emphatically.

“What?” Harry asks, his voice almost whispered.  He hadn’t even noticed he’d paused his action of fully entering, instead standing by the doorway.

“The _curls_ ,” Louis says, his tone melodramatic as he sits up in his chair, Harry rolling his eyes.  “You know we have joint custody of the curls.  You should’ve run this by me first.”

Harry shakes his head as he continues on his feet, sitting himself upon the armrest of Louis’ seat and leaning backward until he’s rested against the leather cushion, only wincing a bit to the sound of it squeaking underneath him.  “It’s not like you asked for my opinion before doing _that,_ ” he retorts, gesturing at Louis’ drying hair.  It’s nice, really.  Especially because now it looks fluffy and full of movement since his hair lady hasn’t been around to dowse it in mousse so that it stays perfect and picture-ready.

The boy’s also wearing one of Zayn’s sleeveless shirts, the material appearing huge on him and the joggers he has on bunched at his ankles.  Aside from looking objectively and annoyingly god damn attractive right now, he also looks fairly different from if Harry were to look him up in a magazine. 

“I think it’s sick,” Zayn comments, the man laid on his back upon the circular rug as he grins up at Harry.  “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Eh, I’m pretty sure I do,” Zayn replies, sounding entirely too sure of himself as he sits up with crossed legs.  “I get to know people really quickly.”

The sight of incense burning in the corner upon the stereo stand brings Harry to realize where the scent of vanilla that he’d been beginning to sense is coming from, and he’s not sure if he’s enjoying it or not.  It’s kind of making him hungry, actually.

It seems Louis is on the exact same page, the boy shifting where he sits, clearly doing it in a manner that brings him closer to Harry.  “I’m like, extremely hungry,” he announces, throwing his back against the couch as he sighs.  “Since we’re staying here tonight, you might as well cook us something.”

“Who said you’re staying here tonight?”

As rude as Zayn sounds in this moment, Harry agrees that it’s a pretty valid question.  He’s not so sure this is a place he’d actually want to stay in overnight, seeing as there’s copious amounts of weed stored somewhere and they’re fugitives.

“I said,” Louis replies, blinking cutely at the boy.  “Now where do we get some food, because I’m pretty sure my baby here is starving too.”

Harry intercepts the boy’s hand before it can caress his arm, already bringing it back down to the couch cushion.  “Don’t.”

Louis huffs, resting his head against his hand as Zayn watches them with eyes that are attempting to hide amusement.  Then, he moves in order to get himself up off the ground, grunting as he does so.  “C’mon.  There’s an okay food place just a walk from here.”

Louis groans, turning his head over in the couch dramatically.  “I don’t feel like _walking_.”

“Fine, then you can get left behind, because I’m not taking a five minute drive,” Zayn offers as a retort, before moving towards the exit of the room, already using his mouth in order to call Niall’s name.

It soon appears that in this household, Louis somehow _isn’t_ the one who always gets what he wants, that position instead being occupied by Zayn, because they find themselves swinging open the heavy doors of what looks like some fresh-cooked, fried food establishment with a moderate amount of people.

Harry had of course stayed quiet on the walk here, Zayn, now clad in the leather jacket he’d thrown on and high-top converse shoes, had kept an arm around Niall as he spoke continuously with Louis (they seriously talk a lot), and the sun had been just starting to perform its descent towards the end of their stride.

Harry doesn’t know how he’s become so close and personal with the sunset in just a few days, but he’s not complaining at all.

“I honestly don’t think anyone within a ten mile radius of here would know who you are or care enough to snitch anyway,” Zayn says, just as they’re moving towards the front counter and getting themselves in line behind the few people that remain ahead of them. “But this _would_ be a perfect place to test out your new appearances.”

“You couldn’t bring us somewhere more…” Louis begins, wrinkling his nose and looking fittingly arrogant behind Harry’s sunglasses that he’s slipped back on.  “…agreeable?”  He makes a face as he looks toward one of the workers behind the counter, grease flying on his apron as he flips a burger upon a grill.

“What do you mean?” Zayn asks, genuine question on his face as they all advance forward.  “The food here is awesome.”

Louis gets up on the balls of his feet as he seems to be studying the menu, which is hung up above the counter and behind the employee at the register.

“I don’t even see anything organic…” he mutters under his breath, adjusting the frame of his sunglasses.

Zayn can’t hold back the cackle that falls out of his lips, his head even tilting backward.  “God, you’re not gonna get through this whole ‘running away thing’ alive at this rate.”

“They’re probably gonna last one more day at the least,” Niall says lowly, bringing Zayn to titter some more as they finally reach the front counter.

Harry blinks down at his chest in response to being kicked by Zayn on his way to making fun of Louis, but then he guesses it’s him that made the choice to be here, to follow the boy, to trust in him.  If he has to be the butt of demeaning quips because of that, then so be it.

“Thanks.  You guys are really so encouraging,” Louis says sarcastically, Zayn already telling his order to the employee behind the front register as though he gets the same thing every time.

They all voice what they want within the next few minutes, Harry simply settling on the restaurant’s signature burger, Louis taking an unnecessary amount of time to twist his face and squint at the menu some more before eventually getting the same thing. 

As they’re stepping off to the side, Niall holding onto their order number so they’ll be notified when their stuff is ready, and Louis huffing profusely at being absolutely miserable in here, Zayn makes eyes at the both of them as he leans his back against the wall. 

Harry hasn’t even _known_ this man for more than two hours yet he’s already aware of all the facial expressions he has and exactly what they indicate.

“…what?” Louis asks slowly, sounding just as suspicious as Harry feels.

“You guys realize you’re not staying with me forever, right?” he asks, speaking almost teasingly.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, as though it should be obvious.  “You’re gonna find someone who can take the ring, and then we’re gonna be free to go back out into the world.  I get it.”

“Yeah, but what if I don’t?” Zayn asks, just as their order number is being called and Niall is moving forth in order to obtain their humongous to-go sack of greasy food from the front counter.

“I hope we’ll never figure out the answer to that,” Louis says, crossing his arms just as they’re all making their way toward the exit and stepping back into the sunset, one by one.  “Because, you know, I came here because I trusted that you would be the one to help get me out of this.”

“Well,” Zayn begins, staying ahead of the group as Niall follows him with the to-go sack slung over his shoulder.  “You still need to stay on the safe side, just in case this doesn’t ever blow over.”  Harry’s already dreading whatever the man means by that, but he’s also dreading whatever the man is about to _do_ , since he’s continuing to walk leisurely within the parking lot outside of the restaurant, opposite of the way they’d came, and the smell of his own steak burger in the to-go bag is seriously calling his name.

“So what kinda car are you guys into?” Zayn asks, squinting just a bit as the sun continues its downward journey and he looks around at the parking lot.  “Vans?  Little compact ones?”  He opens his arms wide, shuffling his feet in order to turn around and face them.  “Just pick one.”

Both he and Louis are standing there, lips slightly parted and heads fully clouded as to what he’s implying, even though if they dig deep enough, they’ll know exactly what that is.

“Nothing?” Zayn asks, quirking an eyebrow up.  “Fine.  I’ll make the choice for you.”

And then he’s walking off, moving towards one of the small, vintage type cars that has its window partially rolled down.  Niall follows behind him leisurely, to-go bag still in one hand as he scrolls through his phone with the other.

“Zayn, what are you _doing_?” Louis asks with exasperation, quickly making his way up to Zayn just as the boy is reaching into the car in order to unlock it.

Zayn stares back at him as though it’s clear what he’s doing, as though there’s absolutely nothing wrong with what’s happening right now as he pulls the driver’s door open.  “Giving you guys a getaway car, duh,” he replies, before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a screwdriver.  “You guys need it if you wanna travel without getting caught.”  And then he’s crouched down, half-inside of the vehicle as he works at unscrewing something inside of it, and the subtle concentration in his eyes as he does _whatever_ he’s doing genuinely scares Harry.  He’s obviously done this before.

This is when Harry realizes he’s just been standing in place, watching them from afar as Louis continues to yell over Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn continues to shrug him off and Niall continues to look at whatever’s on his phone as he leans against the car.

“I…I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Harry begins, his voice small as he walks up.  “There’s like—anyone inside could come out right now and see us doing this.”  He’s even looking over his shoulder as he speaks, figuring that’s making better use of himself than watching Zayn toy with bundles of wires.

“For once, I’m on his side,” Louis replies, pushing his sunglasses back into his hair as Harry rolls his eyes from where he stands behind him.  “You’re just trying to have fun now, and _we’re_ trying not to go to jail for more than one thing at a time.”

“I’m trying to _help_ you guys,” Zayn says frustratingly, his brows furrowing as he pulls yet _another_ tool out of his pocket, this one resembling a tiny wrench.  “This one’s being a tad bit tricky, though.”

The sound of the entrance door to the diner being opened causes a twitch in Harry’s heartbeat, and he’s rapidly turning all the way around as he brings the nail of his thumb up to his teeth.

The sight of a pair of girls laughing as they make their way to their car, not even sparing a glance in their direction, eases him only a little.

“Babe, c’mon.  Hurry up,” Niall says tiredly.  “You’ve never taken this long.”

“Jesus, just give me some time, alright?” Zayn replies, now using steady hands in order to join two wires together.

Harry hates that he’s just _doing_ it, and he _continues_ to do it, and he’s never going to _stop_ doing it no matter how much they protest and freak out behind him.

He also hates the fact that it kind of makes sense, having a car with an unknown license plate so they won’t have to travel publically and potentially be seen by a nosy person who keeps up with celebrity gossip.

It also just makes it all the more real, the fact that they’re running _away_ from the things, and have now succumbed to fucking _stealing_ an innocent person’s car.  This is so fucked up.

“ _Hey!”_

The exclamation snaps Harry’s head forward, and as soon as his eyes catch sight of a tall and husky man, a cap low on his head and dirty boots on his feet as he rounds the corner of the building with his finger pointed at them, his heart drops into his stomach.

“What are you doing to my _car_?”

His heart drops into his butt.

“Zayn,” Niall says, although his voice is still just as detached and noncommittal as before as he kicks at the boy’s leg.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Louis repeats, his voice cautious as he flicks his eyes away from the steadily approaching man and toward a very slow and thorough Zayn.  “Can you speed it up a little?  I have four months of private kickboxing lessons built up and I don’t wanna have to use it on this innocent…somewhat angry…” he takes a moment to swallow, Harry fully turning away from the man’s approach as he continues to bite his nail.  “…huge man.”

Harry doesn’t even have time to reflect on how not-believable it is that Louis has ever taken kickboxing lessons, let alone can actually use it to his advantage, because the man is getting really close now, and Zayn is screaming at them to be patient, and Louis is screaming over him, and _Jesus_ what the fuck did Harry get himself into—

“ _Got_ it!” Zayn yells triumphantly, and it seems everything happens at once—the engine starting up, Niall climbing in over Zayn in order to get into the passenger seat, and Louis swinging the back door open with all of his power before just about throwing Harry in.

It happens so fast that Harry’s bordering on dizzy as the car speeds away, the back door still opened and allowing wind to slap them in the faces as Louis struggles to get it closed, despite the fact that Zayn is literally _flooring_ it.

He can hear the thunderous shouts and warnings and threats coming from the owner of this car as he clearly gives up on running towards them, and somehow, it makes all of this seem extremely…amusing.

“Oh my God, did you _see_ that?” Zayn exclaims, the sound of the tires screeching against the road as he swerves becoming louder than him.  “I did it just in time—God, I’m so amazing.”

With a hefty grunt, Louis’ finally swinging the door closed as Zayn zooms down the empty two-way street, the boy finally done with pretty much hanging onto the car for dear life.

Niall throws his head back against the seat as he shifts in order to get his feet rested upon the dash, his mouth letting out amused chuckles.  “Fuck, that was awesome.”

“What if he calls the police?” Louis asks, his breath heavy as he looks behind himself, despite the fact that they’re significantly far away.

“Dude, why the fuck do you think I’m going so fast?” Zayn asks, having to just about scream over the blow of the wind (even more so now that Niall’s lowered his window too).  “Don’t worry.  This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Louis seems to calm down little by little, finally lowering himself from where he’d originally been hovering upon the seat, gripping the ceiling bar and staring out of the rear window.  He settles into the suede of the cushioned seat (which sort of smells like syrup), and he steadies his own breathing.  “…okay,” he says, although his voice is barely heard over Zayn continuing to laugh with Niall.

Then, Louis turns his eyes toward Harry, and Harry can honestly say that he hasn’t seen Louis looking this _real_ in a while, with the sunglasses still pushing back his outrageously messy red hair sort of like a headband, and his worn-down outfit that is the _opposite_ of brand new and name brand, genuine shock plastered all over his face, and his chest moving in out with a slight tremble as he stares at Harry, almost speaking to him through the vibrancy of his eyes.

“We really did that, didn’t we?” he just about breathes.

Harry nods, not even realizing how his lips have pulled upward at both sides as he breathes just as carefully.  “Yeah, we did.”

Louis finally settles into the seat fully, his knees up underneath him, and neither of them caring for the existence of seatbelts as they become sort of lost in each other.

Harry’s the first to giggle, and it happens the same way it had when they’d just gotten done running away from the cops by foot.  It’s slow, and gradual, and instead of scolding him this time around, Louis actually laughs too, taking a moment to bury his guffaws into Harry’s shoulder in order to contain himself.

“Four months of private kickboxing lessons…” Harry pretty much cackles, the boy laughing just as hard as he pulls his head back, his eyes twinkling at Harry.

“It’s _true_ ,” he replies, smacking Harry in the chest gently.  They laugh a bit more, the side of Harry’s head rested against the cushion as he admires the sight of Louis’ hair getting tousled around by Zayn’s relentless speeding.  Then Louis softens just a smidge, his hand working its way through Harry’s hair, which feels different now that it’s shorter and there’s clearly less area to cover.  Harry thinks for a moment that maybe Louis’ going to criticize it again, but that’s the opposite of what follows.

“This is really growing on me, you know,” Louis says, his fingers reaching toward the back of Harry’s head, and Harry quickly deciding he’s never growing out his hair, never ever _ever_.

 

~*~

 

This burger is really good.

Like, extremely good, and Harry’s fairly certain it’s because of the fact that he’s now eating it as he sits on the hood of the car with the other three boys, the air remains cool and calm around him, and the sky is being splashed with varying, dreamy colors as he stuffs his cheeks.

Zayn had finally pulled over in the middle of nowhere, it seems, once he’d been certain they were in the clear and could actually take some time to eat the food they’d gotten.  Harry has mostly been quiet, letting himself chill out and fill the contents of his stomach as it seems Niall does the same where he sits beside him and picks at his chilli fries.  Louis, who sits across from Harry, has been in and out of giggling with Zayn, of course. 

He hasn’t even panicked about the calories of the burger he’s eating once though, which is new and pleasant.

The car is simply pulled over within a shallow grass field of some sort, Harry not even sure if there’s any actual city for miles, or if Zayn even knows how to get back home from here.

He tries as best as he can not to dwell on it though, instead opting to fully relish this rare moment of peace that he’s experiencing.

He’s almost _too_ invested in eating his food and watching the clouds turn pink to realize that Zayn and Louis are talking about something he should probably listen in on—and he’s triggered to do exactly that when Louis asks Zayn about what happened to his last “boyfriend”.

“Haseen wasn’t my boyfriend,” is what the boy immediately replies with, his legs crossed underneath himself as he tosses a tater tot in his mouth.

“Okay, your _whatever_ ,” Louis replies, rolling his eyes.  “What happened to him?  I liked him.”

“I dunno…he had to move on with his life, as did I…” Zayn replies, an off look in his eye.  “It was about time to do something new anyway.”  His gaze moves toward Niall, the boy sat across from him and shaking his head upon noticing Zayn winking at him.  Zayn shrugs him off, swinging his head back towards Louis as he speaks.  “C’mon, you know I can’t stay tied down to one thing for long.”

Harry can’t help that he speaks up, finding himself feeling for Niall as the boy keeps his head down, now ripping his fries in half.  “Why?”

Zayn shrugs, pursing his lips.  “’Cause it’s boring.  I’m a very…” He lifts his shoulders, narrowing his eyes as he seems to be choosing the right word to use.  “Flexible person, I think, and I want to explore everything in life—every kind of person, every kind of high, every kind of sex position.  And Niall knows this.”  He flashes Niall a smile once again, even though his eyes only reach the crown of the blonde man’s head.  “Don’t you, baby?”

Niall snorts.

“Wow, that’s…something,” Harry decides on saying, raising his eyebrows for half a second before taking a long sip from the straw of his drink.

“Whatever, smart guy,”  Zayn says, clear offense in his tone.  “In a way, it kind of makes _sense_. We have our _entire_ lives to live.  Why would I wanna spend it with one person—having only one flavor, when I have enough time to try _all_ the flavors?”

Niall tears another fry in half.

“I totally agree with you,” Louis chimes in, Harry’s eyes immediately flying towards him, his gaze hardening as he doesn’t even _attempt_ to hide the dismay from his face.  Louis quickly catches himself, however, raising a hand in order to calm Harry as he continues.  “Is what I _would’ve_ said a year or so ago, back when I was young and stupid.  I didn’t really care about anything besides partying with famous people and hooking up with every guy who batted their eyelashes at me.”

Harry blinks slowly, bringing his eyes back down to his lap where he has one leg outstretched, the other tucked underneath him.

Louis’ voice comes in quietly as he continues, the low whistle of the wind starting up just in time with his words.  “But then I met a boy.  A very special boy.  It was at this concert—I can’t even remember the _name_ of the stupid indie band that was getting popular, but I remember that I’d wanted to get into their concert because it was just the _thing_ that everyone was doing at that moment,” he begins, Harry’s eyes having moved back up toward him as his own heart stills in his chest and his hand continues to grip around his plastic cup.  “But anyway, I’d gotten VIP without really trying, because, you know...”

Harry’s mouth tilts upward at the side as he remembers that night.  “You’re Louis Tomlinson.  Yeah, we know.”

Zayn’s eyes move between the both of them, sort of a child-like air behind them as he watches the exchange.

“And it was full, so you and whoever you were with got escorted out of your front row spots,” Louis continues, his cheekbones round and full as he talks.  “You threw the _biggest_ fit—like, I thought you were just going to do what anyone else would do and ask for a picture before giving up your seats, but _no_.  You really weren’t having it.”

Harry shakes his head, pressing his lips together and knowing that both of his dimples are loud and proud right about now.  “I wasn’t,” he replies, thinking back on how two of Louis’ bodyguards literally had to carry him out of the venue, feet dangling above the floor and all.

Louis had found him outside of the venue at some point during the concert, Harry sat against the outside wall and just having finished up complaining about it to the guy he went with (he genuinely doesn’t even remember who he went with—he can’t believe he really had _friends_ at some point), and Louis had charmed him to no end for a reason Harry was completely oblivious to at the time.

“That night, I _knew_ that I just had to know you,” Louis continues, his gaze soft and lulling as Harry melts into it, his cheeks almost feeling sour with how much he’s blushing.  “And so I did.  I got to know you, and laugh with you, and spend all of my free time hiding out with you, and I realized that I didn’t really need to test out all the different flavors, since you were basically like all the flavors in one.”

Yep, Harry’s cheeks are definitely on fire.

He feels extravagantly gushy right now as he stares down at the surface of the car, not knowing how to get rid of his dimples or still his beating heart or make his stomach stop doing flips.

It’s like all those feelings—from that night, all throughout the length of their relationship, are coming back in full force, and Harry remembers how in love he was, how in love Louis was, how much it felt like they had the world in the palms of their hands.  It almost feels like he’s living in it again.  It was the best feeling in the world.

“If I have you, I don’t understand why I would want anything else, really,” Louis says, his voice shy as he now scratches at the plastic of his cup.

The sound of Niall puffing with exhaustion chops into their moment, the boy leaning on the palm of his hand.  “Z, can we leave them stranded here and just go back home?  I can’t take this anymore.”

Zayn blows a laugh into his hand, Harry not knowing if it’s from the fact that Niall’s being so blatantly hostile or from the fact that Louis and Harry are still staring at each other like they have animated love birds floating over the both of their heads.  Either way, Harry doesn’t care, because he’s currently focused on studying the details of Louis’ enchanting face and wanting so badly to run his fingers over every inch of it like he used to.

After a few more seconds, however, he _does_ snap out of it.  Partially.

His smile is still the brightest thing for miles as he picks up his burger again, speaking right before taking another bite out of it.  “I wish you’d practice what you preach, then.”

 

~*~

 

The occasional lone street light flashes by the windows as they make their way back to Zayn’s place.

This has been a long day for Harry, really.  It feels like this morning, when Louis was tapping him awake and ludicrously suggesting they use his private jet in order to escape, happened a week ago.

He sits in the backseat with the boy, their hands somewhat intertwined as Louis keeps moving his fingers around and bringing a quiet giggle out of Harry.  Niall’s window remains all the way down as the boy keeps his head hung out of it, his hair being whipped backwards as Zayn travels down the road, and Zayn continues to be the driver, the man having been searching the glove compartment for CD’s for the past five minutes.  It’s completely dark out, and the quiet of nighttime is making Harry cautious of bringing his voice above a whisper.

“Dude only listens to country music,” Zayn says, his voice remaining soft even through his frustration as Harry can hear him throwing a CD towards the ground.  “He deserved to get his shit stolen.”

Harry can hear him, but it’s like he can’t _really_ hear him.  Not when Louis’ now tracing the lines of his palm, the sides of their heads pressed together as Harry observes the shadows upon his face.

He finds himself lowering his head in order to get his lips pressed against the boy’s shoulder, and his mouth lands right in the middle of where his smooth skin meets the ripped material of his tee.

He just feels sleepy, and dreamy, and sprung, and that’s why he allows it when Louis uses his own head in order to nudge Harry’s up again, bringing their foreheads to press against each other as the boy caresses his wrist.  Harry’s right dimple deepens as they try to lock gaze as best they can while being so close, but eventually it just becomes funny, Harry’s eyes moving towards Louis lips as the boy lets his heavenly giggles fall from between them.

Harry’s not at all against breathing all of Louis in right now, giving in when Louis’ hand comes up to caress his head and pull the boy back into his shoulder again.  He wants to breathe every single breath Louis takes, experience every lick of air that the boy is experiencing.  He wants to be a part of him.

Obviously, Harry's deprived of sleep and _over_ supplied with sweet romantic words.

He feels Louis turn his gaze toward the front window of the car, just as they’re entering a tunnel.

“Zayn, open the top,” Louis says, sounding determined as he sits up, inevitably bringing Harry to sit up along with him.

Zayn doesn’t even ask any questions as he moves his hands toward the ceiling, toying with buttons he doesn’t even know anything about in order to get the top to slide open.  Eventually, after a few minutes of pressing at whatever he can get his fingers on, it does glide open, allowing even more of the chilly night to flood into the car, Louis immediately tugging on Harry’s jacket in order to pull him upward.

The way the wind is meeting Harry’s face and kicking through his hair just as he lets himself through the top with Louis should be enough to make him get right back into the car, but somehow, it feels a thousand times more amazing than it should.  It’s making him cold, and as he leans his elbow upon the car and looks at Louis and his bare arms, he’s certain that it’s probably making the boy _extremely_ cold.  He doesn’t show it though, instead smiling through it while he closes his eyes and tilts his head back.

“The sound your voice makes when you go through a tunnel is so cool,” Louis says, his eyes finally fluttering open as he grips onto the top of the car.  Harry doesn’t really get to offer anything in response before the boy is throwing his head back again and hollering like a werewolf whilst the lights of the tunnel shoot past them on both sides, the boy’s booming voice echoing for what seems like miles.  It sounds sort of distorted, however.  Almost as though they’re traveling through a dark vacuum.

Louis shoves lightly at Harry’s arm once he’s finally done howling at the moon, his eyes bright and glistening in the nighttime.  “C’mon.  You try, it’s fun.”

Harry’s initial response is to shake his head, already knowing that screaming really isn’t his thing—but before he can fully just reject it, like he pretty much rejects everything in life that gives him a sense of thrill, he grips the bars on top of the car too, taking in a huge breath before letting out everything he has, tapping into his inner werewolf as Louis laughs joyously next to him.

It _is_ fun.  And it sounds really cool too.

The wavering echoes of his voice are left behind as they’re nearing the end of the tunnel, Louis taking the time to howl some more as Harry’s chest heaves with how much he’s feeling right now. 

Zayn’s out of the tunnel once Louis’ finally closing his mouth, the boy’s eyes slipping shut once again as Harry’s gaze remains set on the side of his face, wondering how one person can look so effortlessly ethereal, bathed in moonlight the way the boy is right now.  It really makes sense, the fact that he was deemed Hottest Man Alive in all those useless magazines.

When Louis’ opening his eyes again, meeting gaze with Harry, Harry doesn’t change his position one bit.  He keeps his arm rested upon the car as he unabashedly watches the boy in all his beauty, and he doesn’t even want to blink and miss a single second of this moment.

“Harry…” Louis begins, his sing-songy tone just gentle enough to pull Harry in closer.  The boy sets his elbow upon the car as well, grinning as he speaks.  “I meant everything I said earlier, you know.”

Harry’s definitely hypnotized by Louis right now as their eyes remain so close, even though his mouth takes the usual route of being skeptical of everything.

“I don’t know,” he replies, his eyes flicking towards Louis’ perfect nose.

Louis’ titter is gentle as he blows it into his chest, breaking gaze with Harry for half a moment.  “C’mon, love,” he pretty much whispers, Harry’s eyes following every tilt of his head.  “You know how I feel about you.  Why I keep coming back to you.  Lately, I’ve just been feeling—“ he messes with the pads of his fingers, thinking on his words—“ _off_ , and just unsure about everything, and when that happens, I get my name thrown on those shitty headlines and treated like shit by every news column there is—and, I just needed you.  You keep me grounded, bring me back down to earth and remind me of what really matters.”

“What really matters?” Harry whispers back.

“You,” Louis replies easily, a shy grin poking at his lips.  “And when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I’m being judged all the time, and I don’t feel the need to flick off every camera, and I don’t wanna throw things, and—I _never_ feel like that when I’m with you.”  His voice sounds just a tad weaker, on the verge of being choked as he looks down at his fingers.  “You make me so happy, and that’s why I cling to you so much, I guess.”

Harry chews on a corner of his bottom lip as he watches the boy, now slightly caved in on himself as he voices his feelings through a low, whispery voice and distracts himself with his fingers.

He thinks back on earlier.  When he’d declared that here Louis was again, coming back into his life and bringing the hurricane of all his problems with him.

But that’s not the only thing Louis brings every time he comes back.

He brings color.  He brings the sun back up.  He brings _life_ every time he comes back, and Harry’s pretty sure that’s what scares him most.

Harry had been _okay_ with how eventless, and empty, and draining everything in his life had been becoming—he hadn’t cared or attempted to change it, because at that point he’d just accepted that that’s the way his life was going to be.

But here Louis is.  The boy has him out of his bed, free from his never-ending schedule of misery, actually _feeling_ something—more than Harry’s felt in a while.

Louis literally gives him _life,_ and that’s terrifying.

It’s also why Harry’s so in love with everything about him, though.

It appears that Louis senses this emotion flash through Harry for some reason, because quite quickly, he isn’t looking down at his fingers anymore, his eyes slowly sliding upward and placing themselves right upon Harry’s lips.  Harry’s breath actually catches for a moment as he stares down at Louis’ lips right back, feeling as weightless as the gray clouds above them.

It’s so strange, because in all that time they weren’t together, all those months Harry spent living with Liam and pretending he actually cared about anything, he’d been almost _certain_ that whatever feelings he’d had for Louis had been exaggerated.  It’s so easy when he’s detached, to feel as though there’s no possible way love could be real and a person could feel absolutely infinite looking into someone's eyes and he can actually have a desire to be with one person forever, because it all feels so fake when he’s not experiencing it.  He’d felt like he’d dreamt it, glorified how great he and Louis were, but as he brings himself closer to the man right now, his bottom lip nearly trembling as one of his hands come up to reach for his cheek, he vows to himself to never doubt the existence of being in love ever again.

And then Zayn viciously drives over a pothole, and the only thing Harry can feel is Louis’ nose bumping against his face, Harry’s teeth grazing his chin as they get shoved into each other.

“Okay,” Louis huffs, Harry feeling the boy’s red cheeks without even being able to see it.

The moment is sufficiently foiled as Harry’s blinking some sense back into himself, Louis following suit as he lowers back into the vehicle alongside Harry.

“Could you drive with a little more grace?” Louis asks, snaking an arm around Harry’s waist as Zayn chuckles.  “We were having a _moment_ up there.”

“My bad,” Zayn replies, his voice small.

 

~*~

 

Harry’s knees only buckle slightly when the pile of thick blankets and pillows that Zayn is holding are dumped into his arms. 

“Now, you guys get some sleep, alright?” Zayn says, his voice tranquil in the midst of the now quiet apartment, all the lights out as Niall appears to have long gotten himself into whatever bed he and Zayn sleep in.

Harry walks himself into the guest room, releasing an easy sigh as he lets everything in his arms fall upon the bed.

“I’ll focus on finding someone who’ll take that thing out of your hands, and we’ll deal with all of that shit tomorrow.”  The man’s words fade into a yawn as he stands right outside of the bedroom along with Louis, the boy stretching his arms out wide and seeming absolutely worn out for the day.

And then Zayn’s moving back down the hallway, waving a peace sign over his shoulder as he lets out another yawn.

Louis’ eyes follow him hesitantly though, Harry’s chest pressed up against the doorframe as he peeks his head out of the doorway and watches the both of them.

“Goodnight, I guess,” Louis says, calling after him as he places his hands on his hips.  He turns to face Harry, about five feet between them as the boy still stands out in the hall.  “I guess I’ll sleep in the kitchen sink, or something.  Since Harry definitely doesn’t want me sleeping in the same bed as him.”

The last thing they both hear from Zayn is an amused huff before he opens the door to his bedroom.

Hardly any sound comes out of Harry’s mouth when he opens it to speak, his cheek squished against the doorframe.  “C’mere.”

Louis hears him perfectly though, his eyes already moving down toward Harry’s outstretched hand, their fingers sliding in between each other like ice as Harry pulls him into the bedroom.

Although Harry can’t see it because of how purely his eyes are focused on every curve of Louis’ face as their foreheads come together, he can hear the boy reach for the doorknob behind himself once they’re inside the room, backing them both into the surface of it as he gently pushes it closed.

“So no kitchen sink, then?” Louis whispers, his words tickling Harry’s chin and his hairs teasing Harry’s forehead.

Harry shakes his head, his eyes centering in on the movement of Louis’ lips as he finally succumbs to the night and all of the weird things it does to him.

He closes his own eyes, allowing himself to be electrified by the feeling of Louis’ thumb stroking over his cold skin, the socks on both of their feet grazing each other almost teasingly.

Louis becomes more serious within seconds, sincerity evident in the way he asks the question.  “Can we try it again?” he says, Harry immediately knowing what he’s referring to.  “And get it right this time…”  The way he offers half of a giggle towards the end of his request absolutely sends Harry swooning in a way he’s missed so much, and he doesn’t even think before tilting his head as he goes in, quickly having to tilt it the other way because of the fact that Louis had been headed the same way as him.

When their lips join in the middle, everything around them becomes overwhelmingly silent.  His sense of touch is heightened greatly, and as their lips pull over one another, and Louis’ reaching for his other hand in order to get their fingers laced together on both sides, and the boy’s toes tickle at his calf, overstimulation seems like an understatement.

Louis’ tongue just barely brushes over his bottom lip, bringing Harry to swiftly inhale and lean in for more as Louis becomes pressed into the door.  When Louis releases one of his palms in order to delicately snake his hand up the side of Harry’s neck and into the hair at his nape, there’s a stutter in Harry’s breathing, causing Louis’ breaths to be replaced with little bouts of laughter in between their languid pecks. 

As Harry stays in this moment, growing docile against every stroke of Louis’ fingertips against his scalp, and the gentle press of palm to palm, he feels heavenly, and he can’t for the life of him remember why he’d let this go.

When Harry’s stepping into Louis’ space some more, their chests almost flush against each other save for the clothing they (unfortunately) still have on, Louis’ laugh is heavier now, the boy placing his palms against Harry’s chest as he pushes him away playfully.

The push causes Harry to step back slowly, his head dizzy as though he’s just gotten spun around fifty times. 

“You, Styles, are on the verge of making me do something really naughty in this guest room,” Louis says, stepping forward with outstretched arms, placing a hand on either of Harry’s shoulders as he walks him backwards.  “And I’m not sure Zayn would like that.”

Harry’s not even thinking as he speaks, his words breathless and nearly stuttered on the way out of his mouth.  “Who…who cares what Zayn would like—“

He’s sidetracked by Louis finally getting him to the destination he’d intended, he figures, Harry finding himself falling backwards into the comfy armchair that’s pushed against the wall of the room.

Louis’ hands remain on his shoulders as he brings his forehead down to meet Harry’s again.  “I do.  Somewhat.”

Of course now he chooses to care about something.  Of _all_ times.

Louis releases him with another giggle, skipping towards the dresser and looking at himself in the mirror as though he can even see anything.  “You’re so hot right now it’s ridiculous,” the boy says with a sigh, smoothing a thumb over one of his brows.  “It was awfully bold of you to just cut your hair like that, by the way.”

Harry scratches at the material at his thigh, resisting the urge to smile as he remains frustrated at the man putting a pause to their kissing.  “You’re not the only one who lives life on the edge,” he says sarcastically, resting his head back against the couch and not having control over the way his eyes are glued to the sliver of skin on his waist, the boy leaving it exposed as he gets on his tippy toes and leans against the dresser.

Louis laughs wholeheartedly, turning around and resting his back against the dresser as he leans his elbows behind himself.  “I think this whole experience so far has made us more daring,” Louis comments, tilting his chin up thoughtfully.  “It’s kinda fun, actually.”

It doesn’t take much for Harry to agree, nodding his head as he swipes his tongue over his lips.  “It is.”

In sort of a twisted, paranoid, frightening way, it is.

“But it’s not like we haven’t done stuff like this before,” Harry adds, Louis already smirking by the end of his sentence, clearly reminiscing the times Harry’s referring to.  “The art museum…”

Louis’ almost doubled over in laughter as he makes his way back over to Harry, Harry’s insides softening at the sight of him. 

“The one in Paris?  That was a classic,” he says, Harry already getting the signal to scoot over as Louis steps toward him.  There’s really not enough space on the seat for more than one person, but Louis gets as snug as possible as he crosses his legs over Harry’s lap, his hand sneaking around Harry’s waist and under his shirt.  His words are mumbled into the cushion as his cheek is pressed against it, only a two inch distance between their faces.  “Can’t believe we hid out in that one display until it closed.  That night was so fun, it was almost four a.m. before they caught us.”

His finger gently dips into one of the dimples on Harry’s lower back, which is a familiar move that has Harry melting under him, going compliant and allowing his eyelids to fall closed. “And we just played stupid like we got locked inside by accident,” Harry laughs gently, his shoulders shaking as Louis’ fingertips continue to caress his back dimples.  “They apologized and offered us shit like, a million times.”

Louis buries his giggles into Harry’s shoulder briefly, Harry relishing the vibrations against his skin.  “I wanna do more stuff like that with you,” Louis breathes, his palm finally flattening against Harry’s back, fingers splayed.  “I wanna do everything with you.”

Harry’s eyes slide open slowly, his gaze significantly close to Louis as the boy gets his head nuzzled against Harry’s again.

“Why don’t you like when I call you cupcake?” Louis asks, the question sudden, as though it’d just crossed his mind.

Harry shrugs one shoulder uselessly, reaching a hand in order to brush his pads over the boy’s bare forearm.  “Because it’s…” he begins, huffing as his brows furrow.  “It’s what you call everyone.  You use it when you forget people’s names, you use it to charm boys into getting in bed with you…” He looks at the boy pointedly, the boy blinking back at him innocently.  “And it’s just sort of impersonal.  It isn’t special to me.”

Louis leans forward, eyes trained on Harry’s nose as he tugs him in closer.  “So is Harry better?” he whispers.

Harry nods, his hand resting idly on Louis’ stomach.  “Yes.”

“What about ‘love’?” Louis asks, leaning in closer, his knee nudging at Harry’s lap as they remain thoroughly tangled.

Harry’s heavy eyes are practically slits as he nods his head wordlessly, a wave of warmth settling over him at just the sound of it.  Louis’ fingertips go back to caressing the dimples of his back, Harry not even noticing the fact that he's gradually begun to arch into the boy’s touch.

“C’mon,” Louis breathes, bringing his hand up to Harry, pinky extended outward.

Harry lifts his own hand as well, getting his pinky hooked around the boy’s.  They both twist their wrists around, just enough to press quick pecks at the tip of each other’s thumbs, the movement coming naturally to Harry as he does it.  He lets his lips linger on Louis’ thumb for just a second longer than it should, his dimple deepening as his pure eyes look up at Louis.

Louis appears significantly pleased with himself as his crooked grin grows, and before Harry knows it, the boy is leaning into him again, whispering against his cheek.  “C’mere, love.”

And Louis’ lips are being gently pressed into his again, his eyes are falling closed, and he doesn’t know how he’d gotten along without Louis’ fingers branding his skin.

Louis only offers a subtle taste of himself to Harry as they kiss, the boy obviously just wanting to leave Harry wanting more as he leans over him.  His fervent lips eventually journey away from Harry’s, instead inching toward his jaw as Harry’s fingers grip him wherever he can.  When Louis’ pecks finally reach his neck, and the boy immediately goes for that same spot toward the back of his neck that he always seemed to love, Harry’s completely at his mercy, slipping his eyes shut and being hit with just how much he’s missed this, _needed_ this.

Louis’ free hand splays over Harry’s chest, rubbing down his torso as Harry feels his tongue gliding against the skin of his neck. 

Harry hates the fact that he lets a vibration startle him, the abrupt noise coming from wherever his phone is hidden in the bed as he knits his eyebrows together with irritation.  He doesn’t even care about how fucking odd it is that his phone is vibrating when he literally hasn’t communicated on that thing with anyone (besides Louis) in _days_ —he just fucking wants Louis, and his eyes, and his body, and he wants it _now_.

It seems they both make a conscious decision to ignore it, Louis fully getting himself situated on top of Harry upon the couch as he tenderly sucks at that same sweet spot on his neck, slowly pulling down the zipper at the front of his tracksuit as Harry claws at his back.

When his phone vibrates _again_ , this time long enough for Harry to know someone’s calling, Louis’ kisses pause, and Harry’s a second away from kicking him in the shin.

“Don’t,” Harry breathes, his nostrils flared and his tone just threatening enough to get Louis right back into it.

As Louis’ lips are coming back up to meet his, and Harry’s burying his hands in the boy’s hair desperately, and the roaming fingers that they have left can’t seem to find any proper place to grope, he swears to heaven almighty that he doesn’t _care_ about anything else besides this—he doesn’t care about what happened between them in the past, he doesn’t care about what’s going to happen to them in the future, and he doesn’t care about his stupid fucking phone that’s trying to ruin their moment right now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. what do you think is gonna happen next? why do you think louis and harry have issues? i wanna hear all of it 
> 
> also i was sleep deprived editing this so pleas e tell me any errors & all that good stuff xoxo


	4. Four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter: the palisades - childish gambino ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOduPcUJ8RY))
> 
> ~

 

 

Harry’s adamant on staying asleep as long as he can manage as his head remains buried within the outrageously fluffy pillow (he seriously needs to ask Zayn where he can buy this thing for himself), but as per usual, it seems the world has different plans as a sensation that he can’t quit trace causes him to stir.

He can hear birds making their innocent sounds way too close to the window and attempting to wake him up, but he struggles to keep his eyes closed anyway, rolling his head to the side and ignoring the feeling of something in his lap.

It isn’t long before he can’t ignore it anymore, however, because he quickly discovers it’s the feeling of someone’s nose buried against the waistband of his briefs, the inhales and exhales of their breaths upon his skin shivering him away from sleep.

Harry’s aware that his dimple is already out as he keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the sound of Louis giggling from down below as he remains between Harry’s legs.

“What is this?” he mumbles, burying his words into his bicep as he feels Louis curving his arms up under his legs, hiking them up so that his knees are towards the ceiling. 

“I was trying to move silently so you could wake up to a surprise,” Louis begins, his words spoken against the front of Harry’s boxers.  “But you ruined it.  Ugh.”

Harry’s eyes are slow as they blink open, the first thing he sees being a luminous Louis and his heavy eyelashes, blinking up at Harry and wide awake.  While Harry himself is of course shirtless, Louis is just about lost in the tracksuit jacket that Harry was wearing yesterday, the boy only in his own boxers too. 

“You know I’m a light sleeper,” Harry replies, before bringing his head back down to rest against the pillow and shutting his eyes.  “Now get on with it, before one of them come in.”

Louis’ fingers are tickling at his waist, only one of them dipping inside of his waistband as Harry resists shivering in response to it.  “You really are a sight to see in the morning, you know that right?” Louis says, Harry having no control over how one of his feet comes up to gently cradle the back of the boy’s neck.  “With your skin glowing, and you’re tangled in all of the fluffy sheets, and your hair has no rhythm to it.  God, I wanna wake up to this every day.”

“Shut up,” is how Harry responds, his tone exposing how that’s the opposite of what he wants.  “I thought you were giving me a surprise.”

“That I am,” Louis replies, practically purring the words as his nose buries itself at the front of Harry’s pants again, Harry already biting the inside of his cheek and arching toward the contact without giving it much thought.

When his phone vibrates under the pillow that his head is resting on, and it absolutely shocks the shit out of him because of how he’d forgotten it was there, he decides he doesn’t really have to take this anymore.

The same number, unknown to Harry, has been calling his phone since last night.  He’d been planning just to ignore it (just like he’s been doing to all of Liam’s calls) and go about his daily life as a fugitive, but obviously, it must be something serious, since whoever it is won’t leave him alone.  He doesn’t really think anyone can track where he is through a phone call, but if that is the case, he and Louis will find their way out of it.  They have a getaway car, anyway.

“You’re really gonna answer that?” Louis asks, pouting up at Harry as he brushes his fingers at the boy’s thighs.  “One, I don’t think it’s a good idea, and two, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

Harry already has the phone up to his ear, waiting for the mystery person to pick up on the other end as he sucks his teeth.  “One, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, and two, I can multitask,” he says, reaching one hand down in order to stroke through the majestic mess of Louis’ burgundy strands.  “Don’t worry.”

So Louis takes his word for it, continuing his act of pressing saccharine, thorough pecks against Harry’s skin, working his way as far as he can get towards his inner thigh, and Harry discovers that he _can_ multitask—he can throw his head back in response to the chill of Louis’ lips against his skin, _and_ he can feel cripplingly anxious as he waits for the phone to finally be picked up.

And when it _is_ picked up, Harry’s come to the roundabout conclusion that he can’t multitask.

There’s literally no speaking on the other end of the line, just a vague sound of background noise, which instantly creeps Harry out as he forgets about what Louis’ doing altogether.  Louis senses it as well, the boy’s eyes fluttering up towards him as he pauses hesitantly.

“Who is this?” he manages to ask eventually.

“Looks like you two are enjoying your little vacation,” comes the voice—a distant, clearly masculine voice that Harry has definitely never heard in his life before.  He rapidly becomes certain that someone’s fucking with him, but he stays as collected as possible.

“What…”

“But it’s coming to an end now,” the voice continues, Harry’s eyebrows pulling together, his other hand stilled where it remains in Louis’ hair.  “We want the ring, and we know you have it.”

Harry’s mouth is moving open with plans to say something, any words in order to make sense of this, but his chest feels way too taut and his throat is becoming increasingly dry as Louis sits up where he is, his eyes sincere as he grows genuinely concerned about what’s happening on the phone.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry stammers, looking to Louis for direction even though they both have no idea of what’s going on.  “I don’t have the ring, and I’m probably not who you’re looking for.  Please don’t call again.”  And he promptly presses to end the call, fearful of having to hear them say anything more to prove just how much they know.

“What _was_ that?” Louis asks, shuffling towards the boy as he settles both palms on either side of his hips.

“I…” Harry begins, his eyes now glued down upon the blank screen of his phone.  “I have no idea.  They…”

“Someone’s onto us?  They know where we are?” Louis asks, his words hurried and the energy in his eyes showing he’s already slipping into panic.

“No— _no_ ,” Harry says, setting a hand against the boy’s chest.

“But you were talking about the ring,” Louis continues, his words falling over each other.  “Why would they ask you about the ring—“

“It’s probably just a prank call,” Harry says, keeping his voice relaxed as he sets the phone down on the pillow, before shifting in order to sit up more properly.  “People have my number.  Some people probably know it was me in the shop with you if pictures got out.  They’re trying to be funny, or something.”

They hold each other’s eyes for a moment, Harry knowing that his own are huge as Louis stares into them, but still trying with everything in his gaze to alleviate the boy, his hand still against his chest whilst they breathe in and out.

“There’s literally no way anyone could know where we are, babe,” Harry continues, Louis sitting back upon his feet as he bites the inside of his cheek.  “We’re fine.”

Louis shakes out his hands as he keeps his eyes downcast, his words now sounding more spaced out.  “Okay, I just—I can’t help that I’m freaking out.  I can’t go to jail.  I really _can’t_.”

Harry musters up a light amount of laughter at the boy’s dramatics.  “Jeez _,_ no one’s going to jail.”

“Good, because when I said I wanted to wake up to you every day, I imagined it _not_ being in a jail cell,” Louis replies, obviously easing back into a teasing mood as he lays his head upon Harry’s chest for a moment

“Hopefully not,” Harry replies, caressing the boy’s head as he holds him.

Louis brings his head up, only a hair of space between the both of their noses as he speaks lowly.  “Now, can I finish what I started?”

“Please,” Harry whispers, only getting one more stroke of his thumb against the boy’s neck before Louis’ shuffling his way back down the bed again—

And then the door’s being swung open, and Louis is throwing a hand in the air, flipping himself around in order to welcome the view of Niall at the doorway, Harry staring at the boy just as unamusedly.  It really is just the icing on top of this place, the fact that there’s no lock on the guest room door.

“Good morning to you too,” the boy says, crossing his arms as he leans his back against the wall, Louis remaining reclined on the bed with the back of his head rested right in Harry’s crotch.  “Zayn said he found a buyer for the ring—well, he’s not gonna pay _you_ guys, because he said there’s no point and he’s gonna rat you guys out if you ask him for money—but he’s gonna pay Zayn a lot for it, which is good.”  The boy shrugs his shoulders, speaking as though he’s reading some boring book.

“This so-called ‘buyer’ sounds like a lovely person,” Harry comments, his fingers lightly pinching one of Louis’ earlobes.

Harry hears Zayn’s voice before he sees him in the flesh, and he figures the boy is traveling down the hall and had been listening in on their conversation.  “He _is!”_

When he comes into view, he’s wearing a sandy brown t-shirt that’s stained with numerous streaks of what looks like fresh paint, and sandy brown cargo paints that are wrinkled and also messily coated.

It also makes sense that he’s holding a wooden paint palette in one hand as he steps into the room, a paintbrush behind his ear as he speaks.  The sight instantly causes Harry to roll his eyes; it’s almost as though he can’t help it.

“I’ve known this guy for _years_ and he’s passed every background check known to man, so we can trust him,”  Zayn begins, walking his way over in order to peck Niall’s cheek (the boy immediately wiping it away after).  “So after we’re done with this, I’ll have a bunch of extra money, Niall will get showered with endless gifts, and you two will…”  He pauses for a second, turning towards them as he seems to think on it.  “Hopefully just live okay lives.  That is, if the public doesn’t shun you.”

Harry can even feel Louis rolls his eyes as the boy remains rested against him.  “So what’s the plan, then?” he asks.

“He lives pretty far, so we’re gonna meet him halfway.”

 _“We?”_ Harry asks, far too fatigued of being driven places.  “Why can’t you just give the ring to him and have that be the end of it?”

“He wants to see you two there,” Zayn replies, shrugging uselessly as he pulls the paintbrush out from his ear.  “Wants to make sure it’s the actual ring you guys stole, and that I’m not just trying to swindle him with a replica, or some shit.”  He stirs the point of the brush into the blue dab of paint casually, Louis letting out a deep sigh as he kicks at the blankets.  “So, we’re gonna meet him at the address he gave us, he’s gonna give _me_ the okay amount of money that he’s willing to pay for the ring, and then he’s probably gonna sell it at actual price to an undercover cop and get arrested.  It’s simple.”

“What if he rats you out if gets arrested?” Louis asks.

Zayn lets out another shrug, furrowing his brows as though it’s something that shouldn’t cause him any concern.  “He’s not gonna do that.”

“How do you know though?”

“Because I know a couple men who don’t take snitching lightly,” he replies easily, tucking his brush back behind his ear.  “He’s aware of that.”

Yep, they’re dealing with an entire psychopath.

And oddly, Harry is finally finding himself sort of convinced about this whole thing.

 

~*~

 

“So…I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have to be the one to speak up,” Harry begins, shifting upon the cushion as he stares out of the window from the backseat.

After a solid two hours of driving, Louis finally seeming to stop being so wound-up as the boy rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and closed his eyes, Zayn blasting the radio anyway as he goes well over the speed limit, and Harry keeping his eyes placed upon the views outside of the car as they fly by, now that Zayn’s finally making an exit and nearing whatever address Mystery Buyer had given them, he definitely feels that the bright lights and taxis and pedestrians at every corner of this posh city is the opposite of inconspicuous.

“What?” Zayn asks over his shoulder, stopping roughly enough at a red light for Louis to begin to shift a bit.

“Do you even _know_ where it is that we’re going?” Harry asks, knitting his brows together.  “It seems like we’re literally being lured into broad daylight, smack in the middle of a crowd of people.”

Zayn laughs loosely, his shoulders moving with it as he continues down the street.  “Just chill out.  There’s still ten more minutes to go, and…”  He leans forward just a hint in order to look more closely at the GPS on his phone that’s propped up against the dashboard.  “…it could be anywhere, really.”  He doesn’t appear too sure of himself, however, as he continues to coast around a city that they are completely foreign in, only soothed by the fact that whomever this guy is is his “long time friend”.

When it seems they’re finally arriving, and Zayn’s pulling into the grand, silver gates of what looks like some closed-off country club, Harry’s skepticism is ever-present.

“Zayn,” Harry sighs, feeling more unsure about this with every passing second.

“ _Harry_ ,” the boy says back, voice weary.  “Just trust me on this.  He’s rich.  Where did you expect him to bring us?”

Harry snorts as he presses the side of his head against the darkened window, taking in the growing sight of uppity-looking members walking upon the fields of grass, driving golf carts down sidewalks, and overall looking as though their life is peachy keen. 

Although Zayn is a madman that Harry doesn’t desire to see again once this whole thing is over, he’s overly thankful of the man’s abilities at thinking ahead, which is why he’d gone and tinted the windows of the getaway car before they’d left, making it just about impossible for anyone outside of it to see the interior—all they’d get is a solid black reflection of themselves.

He can’t help that his mind has continued to drift back to the phone call he’d gotten this morning.  Sure, it probably _was_ just a prank, and the people that he’d so idiotically given his number to over the years have decided to bite him in the ass, but he’s just angry that they actually succeeded in getting him paranoid.  Getting him to believe that someone could be onto them, and that what they’re doing isn’t safe.  He was just getting comfortable.

“You guys are gonna stay in here, since you know, _these_ kinds of people are especially nosy and annoying,” Zayn says as he veers in order to pull into a tight parking spot, Harry almost certain the boy grazes the spotless Jeep that’s parked next to them.  “I’ll meet up with him, bring him here so he can confirm that he saw you guys, and then we’ll be good.  Alright?”

“Try to be fast,” Louis mumbles, Harry not even aware the boy had silently opened his eyes.

Zayn moves to open his door, grabbing Harry’s backpack out of the passenger seat (the thing has become sort of like a top secret briefcase) as he leaves.  “Don’t tell me what to do,” is the last thing he says before the door swings shut behind him.

And then they’re met with silence—well, if not for the murmuring, deadened sounds of the outside country club, where the sun is shining bright and it just seems like everyone collectively decided to wear pastel colors.

Harry feels Louis’ hand move towards his as it rests on his lap, the boy getting their fingers to curl between each other as he nuzzles his head against his shoulder some more.

“This is almost over,” the boy says, endlessly quiet.

Harry sucks in a breath through his nose and caresses Louis’ thumb with his, before letting out a sigh from his lips.

Louis senses his slight nerves, just like he always instantly senses any minor change in Harry’s demeanor.  Just like he always has.

He lifts his chin onto Harry’s shoulder, staring at him within close range and speaking softly.  “What’s wrong, love?”

Harry’s eyes only flutter closed for two seconds as he remains silent, the sound of one of the cars next to them backing out of the parking lot being the only thing heard.

“Um…” he begins, already knowing he’s going to inevitably ruin something that’s going well.  “I just don’t know how I feel about this.  Like, if it’s a good idea and all.”

Louis sits up just a smidge, Harry merely feeling the boy’s incredulous gaze on the side of his face without having to see it.  “Harry.  This is the _best_ idea,” he starts.  “We’re finally gonna be free of this whole thing, and rightfully _innocent_ , and able to prove the fucking press wrong about _everything_.”

Harry wrinkles his nose a bit as he throws his head back, still feeling iffy about all of it, but already hearing Louis getting ready to convince him some more.

“This is literally _perfect_ ,” Louis says, as though it’s obvious.  “This way, it’s out of our hands and they couldn’t find it on us no matter how hard they search.  Because we didn’t do it.”

He’s starting to sound like Zayn.

“Yeah, but then why did we run away?” Harry asks, finally bringing his eyes to Louis.  “That’s still a question.”

Louis blinks slowly, obviously trying to formulate an answer to that himself as they share breaths between themselves, fingers still interlinked.  “Because they targeted us.  They surrounded us for something we didn’t do and that scared us.  Who _wouldn’t_ react that way?”

“I just think…” Harry begins, offering another soothing stroke against the boy’s palm in order to keep him calm before he says what he needs to say.  “I think…maybe if we.”  His eyes fall closed, his chin resting upon his chest as Louis listens intently, probably with plans to shoot him down immediately.  “If we just return it, and let them know it was _just_ an accident—“

“We can’t do that, because then they _win,_ Harry,” the boy says, voice passionate.  “They win, and they’re not gonna care for our puppy dog eyes about how fucking sorry we are and shit, because they’re just gonna take the fact that we were guilty and _run_ with it.  Just this once, they need to be wrong.  I need to be able to _prove_ that they’re wrong about me.”

“Who _cares_ if they’re right or wrong about you?” Harry asks, his volume raising as he opens his eyes again.  “Who fucking _cares_ about _them_?” he continues, raising his free hand for air quotes.  “ _I_ know who you are. I know what’s right and wrong.  I…I think you’re fucking amazing, and beautiful, and everything that’s somewhat good in the world, and that’s what should really matter, honestly.  What _I_ think matters, and nothing else.”

It sounds vain, but Harry doesn’t really care, because it’s true.  Or at least, it’s always what he’s wished was true when it came to Louis.  It just always seemed like the boy was searching for something else, seeking validation from something else, desiring attention from something else, all the while Harry was in front of his face, waving his hands in the air and begging the boy to realize what was right in front of him.

“Well,” Louis begins, his voice significantly gentler before, and Harry not even realizing how his own breathing has picked up after his mini rant. 

The boy pauses long enough for Harry to turn his eyes toward him, frustrated and waiting for whatever it is he’s going to offer as a reply.

“If your opinion on me is all that matters, then that’s quite troublesome considering you dumped an ice cold drink on my head in public not too long ago.”

Harry can’t help the giggle that escapes his mouth, his body going a little less tense once Louis’ lighthearted chuckles are sounding next to him as well.

“At _that_ time, my opinion on you was that you were a dick,” he replies, shaking his head as he registers how long ago that now seems. 

Louis shifts closer to him, an eager twitch to his lips as he talks.  “So you really think all that stuff about me _now_?” he asks.  “It seems your opinion on me changes with the blow of the wind.”

“That’s because _you_ change with the blow of the wind,” Harry replies.

Louis drops his mouth open for a second, reaching his free hand up in order to turn Harry’s chin toward himself.  “I do _not_.  Just admit it.  You knew all along that you still felt the same way about me, yet you played as though you wanted me to go away.”

Harry nudges his forehead into Louis, the shadow of his dimple appearing in his right cheek as he shakes his head.  “I’ll never admit anything.”

“Wanna bet?” Louis asks, his voice low and daring as his hand moves to caress the side of Harry’s jaw.  He leans forward, teasingly letting his teeth barely bite down against Harry’s bottom lip, beckoning him forth without another word as Harry shifts where he’s sitting, already snaking both of his arms behind Louis’ waist.

Harry didn’t think it possible for him to be more grateful of the tinted windows than he already was, but he finds himself feeling that emotion when he and Louis are laying over the backseat, legs entangled between each other as Louis finally quits his pattern of tongue teasing and just gives Harry the steamy makeout session that he wants already.

They’d probably done enough last night, but he’d totally be down for another three rounds in a tinted car where people can walk by without suspicion.  It’s really hot this way, for some reason.

When Louis’ hiking one of Harry’s legs up the way he knows the boy likes, and going for that same spot on his neck like it’s second nature, the excitement just begins its cradle within Harry’s gut—so it makes sense when three harsh knocks at the window startle the both of them.

Harry’d been so immersed in the moment that he hadn’t even realized Louis’d gotten his shirt half off, and he finds himself quickly having to pull one of his arms back into the sleeves as they both turn toward the sight of Zayn and what is possibly the buyer, standing outside of the window.

Right.  They’re still in the middle of this shit.

The car is one of those old ones where they have to crank some ancient lever looking thing in order to roll the window down, and once Louis’ crawled up to the door with a heavy breath, he does just that, only bringing the window down about four inches as he blinks at them.

“Yep?”

The guy standing next to Zayn, who looks exactly how Harry would expect him to look in this environment, with flawless, brushed back strawberry blonde hair and some name brand logo unknown to Harry on his tucked in collared shirt, appears very contrasting to Zayn, who stands next to him in the distressed, ripped shirt and dark jean overalls he has on.

“Oh my God,” blonde dude says (Harry really doesn’t care for learning his name even though Zayn has probably said it once or twice).  He brings a hand up towards his mouth, stepping just a little closer to the window as he crouches down, looking almost disbelieving.  “It’s really you guys.  That was some really great stuff you pulled by the way, totally bad ass.  You two are _awesome!”_

Harry refrains from rolling his eyes as he stays behind Louis, still somewhat stretched across the reminder of the backseat with his palms rested behind himself.

“Thank you,” Louis says proudly, still staring at them through the sliver of the window he’s let down. 

“Okay, you’ve seen them,” Zayn declares, his elbow leaned against the car as he stands outside of it.  “Now can we please go back and negotiate?”

Negotiate.  They’re still fucking negotiating.

Although blonde dude looks significantly flustered and somewhat starstruck for whatever reason as his eyes keep moving between the interior of the car and Zayn, he nods his head repeatedly as he rubs his palms over each other, and the sight gives Harry a shimmer of hope.

So then, Zayn is slapping a warm hand over the guy’s back, leading them back toward wherever they’d come from, Louis is doing the window back up, and Harry’s wondering why this is taking so long.

Louis turns back toward Harry, instantly grinning at the aloof look on his face as he stays leaned against the palms of his hands.

“Why can’t he just give him the ring and go?” he asks, Louis giggling as he crawls back up toward Harry.  “Like, just _hand_ it to him.”

“I’m honestly not complaining so much…” Louis begins, using the tips of his fingers pressed against Harry’s chest in order to get him fully reclined again.  “Because it gives us more time to finish up what we started…”

And Harry would love to get back to that, he really would, but as Louis’ going back into his neck, he can’t help but notice a figure, a fair distance away from the car as it remains still.  He’d first noticed the figure, easily discernible from its surroundings as it seems to be a person in dark clothes as opposed to everyone else, the person far away enough and perched up against a tree for Harry not to even think about it for two seconds before going back to his conflicting thoughts about this whole thing, but now that his eyes have happened to land in that general area again and the _person_ (he can’t tell any specifics because of how far they are) is still there, things are starting to get much more questionable.

“That person’s watching us,” Harry declares, his mouth clearly being two steps ahead of his slowly moving brain.

Louis’ sigh is full and loaded when he brings his lips away from Harry’s neck with a smacking noise.

“No one could possibly be watching us, love.  The windows, remember?” he says, voice weary.

Harry’s eyes remain right where they are, however, and he’s fully sitting himself up as he sets a hand on Louis’ shoulder.  “No, this person’s definitely watching us.  They know we’re in here, somehow.”

There had already been group after group, falling leaf after falling leaf, moving within Harry’s sight of the person as it would on any normal day, but after a particularly long cart of what looks like fresh white towels is being pushed by a lady in uniform that passes in front of the figure, Harry’s heart is growing increasingly still.

Because then they aren’t there anymore.

And Louis’ looking behind himself, giving into Harry’s hysterics and trying to find what he’s looking at.  Inevitably, he finds nothing.

“Baby.  There’s literally no one watching us—“

“They were just _right_ there,” Harry starts, voice level rising as he genuinely begins to feel as hysterical as Louis’ concerned eyes are making him out to be.  “I _saw_ them, and—they just fucking moved—“

“Okay, okay…” Louis begins, extending a hand as he holds the boy’s jaw again, bringing his focus forward as Harry quickly starts to lose it, a hand frantically scratching under the bandana of his hair.  “I believe you, okay love?  I believe you, but it was probably just a random person.  You’re letting your paranoia get the best of you right now.”

As Louis’ thumb faintly presses against his lip, Harry holding gaze with the boy and nodding his head as vaguely as he can manage, he’s appreciative of the fact that the boy didn’t tell him that he was seeing things, or that he was imagining random shit.  Louis believes him that someone was there, because someone most certainly _was_ —but maybe they were just…there.  And just so happened to be facing their general direction from hundreds of feet away.  The car windows are _tinted,_ for goodness’ sake.  Harry really needs to chill.

“…okay,” Harry finally brings himself to say, his voice nearing a whisper.  Louis’ lips spread into a subtle grin as he holds his face, leaning forth in order to get his nose snug against Harry’s whilst he continues to stroke his lip.  “Okay,” Harry repeats.

And so he decides it’s okay.  Sometimes, Louis _is_ right about things, contrary to Harry’s own belief that he’s constantly right about everything he says.  Harry just needs to continue the pattern of blindly trusting in the boy, especially since it’s only helped the both of them so far.

As they continue to wait for whatever it is Zayn and his friend are doing, they do manage to get a few quickies in, making sure to keep their pleasured sounds to a minimum and keeping any and all stains off of the car seats (because of course they have their mouths, and there are no napkins in here, and they definitely don’t want Zayn to know what they’re up to).

By the time the thrill of somewhat public car sex is finally dwindling, Zayn and his friend _still_ aren’t back, and Harry finds himself once again getting intimate with the sunset, his head rested in Louis’ exposed chest as the world begins to darken around them.

They’re both rested against the door, the buttons of Louis’ shirt done apart as Harry lays his head there and breathes just in time with him, keeping a hand splayed over his torso and wanting nothing more than to curl up in a bed with this man.  And perhaps have sex with him some more.  With penetration, this time.

And it seems that just as he’s growing impatient, his pads clawing at Louis’ sweaty skin, there’s a knock on the window again, this time coming from the one on the driver’s side.

Harry emits a groan as he has to lift himself off of Louis, reaching as far as he can towards the front in order to press the button and unlock the door.

Even with the sun almost fully down, the light that Zayn brings in when he swings the door open is far too much, Harry wincing as he watches the man climb into the car, tossing the backpack back into the passenger seat as he does so.

“Please tell me that thing is empty now,” Harry says, a hand shielding his face as he slumps back into Louis’ chest.

“Nope,” Zayn replies with a shake of his head, closing the door before getting ready to start back up the car.  “He says he’s gonna sleep on it for a bit.”

Both Harry and Louis speak up at the same time, their voices sounding equally distressed and fed up.  “ _Sleep on it?”_

Zayn looks at them over his shoulder with wide eyes, clearly not understanding how much of a toll just waiting and watching and hiding is taking on them.  “What?  He just wants to be sure he’s making the right decision.”

“And what the fuck are we supposed to do while he sleeps on it?” Louis asks, the movement of him sitting up causing Harry to sit up as well.

“He’s nice, and stuff, so he already suggested a hotel just a few blocks away,” Zayn says with a shrug of his shoulders, eyes purely concentrated on the wires he’s messing with.  “Don’t worry.  I’ve got this.”

Harry’s hands fall into his lap as his eyes go downcast.  “This sounds so fishy.  There, I said it.”

“Yeah, it really does,” Louis says behind him.

Once the engine’s finally starting up, Zayn grabs the sunglasses that he has hanging off of the rearview mirror, making it clear he isn’t taking any of this seriously as he covers his eyes.  “How many times do I have to tell you guys—“

“If you say he’s your fucking friend one more time, I swear,” Harry says, Zayn immediately releasing a huff of laughter as he pulls out of the parking lot.

There are so many reasons Harry’s mind is formulating right now as to why the ring can’t just be exchanged in a swift manner, each reason more troubling than the last.  There’s probably a fucking _bounty_ on their heads now for all he knows, and turning him and Louis in could grant someone a cash prize far heftier than selling the ring will be.

 “Harry, Harry.  You’re so funny when you’re angry,” Zayn laughs, turning the steering wheel with one hand as he nears the gates.  “You guys just need to keep calm and trust me.”

Harry’s sure that Louis is just as doubtful as he is as they remain silent, save for the uneven sighs coming from their mouths in defiance to this entire situation.

“Everything will work out,” Zayn continues.  “Promise.”

The both of them know there’s no use in continuing to argue, Harry especially, since it’s obvious that no matter what he’s said in the last twenty four hours, the other two have continued to do whatever their heart’s desired.

So he doesn’t raise a hand when they eventually find themselves checking into a hotel just as the night approaches, doesn’t suck a breath when they’re walking into some dingy two-bed hotel room with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and only blinks twice when Louis tugs him out of the room by the arm and announces they’re going on an adventure, probably because he’d been feeling the silent vibrations of Harry’s dissatisfaction.

It’s sort of a calming remedy though, walking up and down the many dark (save for the twitchy, wavering light bulbs), vacant halls of the hotel and just talking to the boy.  About nothing and anything really—almost as though they’re not even aware of the situation they’re in, Harry being quite sure of how that’s Louis’ exact goal as the boy laughs about how it feels as though a serial killer is going to come around one of the hallway corners at any moment.

And then they’re walking through the lobby, which is also vacant of any other person, save for the bland lady at the front desk who had checked them in.  She doesn’t even bat an eyelash in their direction as they’re walking around, poking at the keys on the ancient piano, and taking a few minutes to watch the seventies sitcom that’s quietly playing on the television, Louis in Harry’s lap as they sit on the couch.

When they continue their aimless journey of distraction, they discover that there’s a pool towards the back of the hotel which they definitely hadn’t known about, so it makes sense that soon Harry finds himself following behind Louis, the boy climbing up the tall gate surrounding the swimming pool and leaping down with the grace of a cat, Harry envying every second of it.  He especially envies it because, again, the gate is tall, and this is the only way to get in since the sign nearby indicates that the pool is closed and has been for about an hour.  Louis has to catch him on his way down, which doesn’t go too well once they end up in a heap on the concrete.  They laugh through it though, their airy chuckles echoing in the night as Harry ignores the bubbling pain in his right ankle.

Harry’s allowed to alleviate himself some more, let go of all the internal tension regarding his doubts about selling the ring, trusting Zayn, even _being_ here—and just submerging himself in the darkness of the water with Louis, the boy kissing his cheek as they remain down under, the red of his hair somewhat visible in the nighttime and tiny bubbles attached to his skin as Harry looks at him through narrowed eyes.

And it’s fun.  It really is.

Harry’s honestly shocked at his ability to find things fun again, to actually _laugh_ and _mean_ it, as they splash through the water in only their briefs and Louis buries Harry’s head underneath because of the boy teasing him about the red dripping down the sides of his face (he looks like he’s in a horror film).

He’s even _more_ shocked at his ability to find fun in Louis again, when just last week, he was sure the worst case scenario would be having Louis in his life again, getting sucked back into the black holes of his eyes, yet here he is, being happier than he’s been in a while with the love of his life, and somehow finding thrill in putting everything on the line for him.

“Harry,” Louis says at some point, the boy having been peacefully floating on his back amidst the water, Harry having been admiring the ridges on his stomach with his back leaned against the edge of the pool.

Harry makes a small “hmm?” noise, one of his eyebrows moving upward.

“Is it bad that I kind of don’t want this to end?”

Harry purses his lips, genuinely not surprised at hearing this from Louis as the silence grows between them, only the occasional sound of moving water adding to the serenity of the moment.

“That like…I just wanna be here, doing this with you, forever?” Louis continues, his voice even quieter than before.

Harry ignores the slightly heavier thump of his heart, instead being cheeky with the boy in order to not address how much he’s feeling right now.

“It _is_ kinda bad,” Harry chuckles, Louis’ closed eyes opening as he looks toward him, already preparing to let himself down from his floating state.  “Because you’ve dated, like—record-breaking models and Emmy winning actors, yet you’re wanting to be here.  With me.”

Louis’ already approaching him, the boy viciously splashing him wet as Harry puts in minimal effort in order to shy away and shield himself.

“Shut _up_ ,” the boy huffs, adding another splash as Harry brushes a hand over his own dripping face.  “You know those things don’t really matter to me.”

“C’mon,” Harry says, his eyes sleepy as Louis extends a hand in order to comb it through his hair.  “They obviously do.  Dating people that match your status, getting papped perfectly as you leave every nightclub in town—that’s what you like.  And you know that that’s not me.”

Louis’ eyes are careful as they roam over Harry’s face, his hand leaving Harry’s hair as he brings it down against his skin, tracing two of his fingers against his collar bone.  “What you need to understand is that my desire for all of that stuff went down the drain as soon as I met you,” Louis practically whispers, eyes now trained on Harry’s lips as a red streak continues its journey toward his own chin.  “Those stupid celebrity relationships,” Louis begins, laughing a bit whilst his fingers glide toward Harry’s shoulder.  “They last for a few weeks at most.  But me and you, we’re like—going on over a year now—“

“On and off for over a year,” Harry corrects him, although his voice is faint and weak as he’s unaware of how much he’s backed into the wall, Louis just being that much closer to him.

“Yeah, but it still adds up to more than my longest superficial relationship,” Louis replies, his lips curving upward as his eyes meet Harry’s again, Harry not even fully conscious of how he’s gradually lowering himself into the water.  “And that means everything.  You mean everything to me, Harry, and I would honestly trade everything I have outside of this situation to just lay with you forever.  It would be the easiest decision of my life, really.”

Harry lowers himself some more out of the purest sense of fluster and blush that he’s feeling in this moment, and also because he’s trying to will himself not to sink into these empty words again.  He pretty much rapidly finds that this isn’t the best plan, however, when the water is just above his shoulders and he now has a view of Louis looking down at him with sparkling eyes and the moon behind his head.

Harry’s growing short of breath as he chokes whatever he’s feeling back down his throat, although it’s becoming quite hard as Louis brings himself increasingly closer, clearly taking joy in watching Harry struggle not to fall apart like this.

His words come out in breaths when he attempts to protest.  “Don’t…say that—“

“I’m saying it,” Louis breathes back, his lips still somewhat curved and now barely ghosting against the hair that rests over Harry’s forehead.

Harry takes the liberty of submerging himself even further, masking the dimple in his right cheek as only his big eyes are now seen above the water, and all this does is make Louis appear more delighted and lovesick, his cheekbones going pointy with joy.

A red flush is of course making its origin upon Harry’s face, and before it can surely spread throughout the rest of his body, the boy above him is already lowering a hand in order to dip under the pool and take a tender grip of Harry’s chin.  He pulls him up and out of the water without much effort, since Harry’s already subdued just by the squeeze of the boy’s fingertips upon his cheeks.  They’re both snapped into intimacy with each other almost instantly, Harry pulling the boy forth with a hand against his neck, and their lips coming together as Harry feels a tiny splash of water where Louis’ moving his other arm in order to get it snug around Harry’s back.

He just can’t _take_ it anymore.

He loves loves _loves_ this man, and he knows Louis’ good with words, and turning on the charm, and flashing his blue beauties in order to get what he wants, but Harry doesn’t _care_.  He’s falling for it, falling for him, diving right into his body and becoming more than ready to give him the world.  Again.

Their pecks pick up from languid as Harry’s turning them around in the water, Louis getting pressed into the wall of the pool as their lips suck and move against each other, Harry just about hunched over the boy as he feigns for every taste of the boy’s tongue against his, every touch of the boy’s pads against his hip and neck, and every feel of where the water is almost up to where their bare chests are flush against each other, Harry experiencing a closeness with the boy that he’s missed very much so.

Louis is this constantly watched and esteemed man, a man with five useless businesses (that he really doesn’t contribute anything to), a man who’s plastered all over top-tier magazines and constantly asked for his opinions on things, for his face and voice on commercials, and posters, and fucking _cereals,_ yet here he is with Harry, not wanting to be anywhere else or any _one_ else’s.  All that’s going through Harry’s head at the moment is the constant repeat of the word _mine_ , Harry feeling like a stubborn toddler with an inability to share his favorite toy.

Harry’s in the middle of kissing up under Louis’ chin, the boy having gotten both his legs wrapped around Harry’s waist at some point, when a sensation of light is felt behind his closed eyelids.

His eyes are immediately made into slits once they’re opened, both he and Louis now scrunching up their faces at the sight of a flashlight being pointed at them, the person who’s holding the appliance standing near the edge of the pool, looking just as bored as she had looked behind the front desk in the lobby.

He and Louis don’t even have to hear any words from her mouth about why they shouldn’t be there, and pretty soon they’re already offering their embarrassed apologies and journeying toward the edge of the pool.

 

~*~

 

“So are you two together, or what?”

Although the question is sudden, since they’d been sitting with just the whispering television on for several minutes, it isn’t blurted, because Zayn keeps his voice level low as he remains enchantingly concentrated on what he’s doing. 

For some reason, none of them have even gone near the tiredness required in order to go to sleep.

The night is pretty deep now, and since Harry and Louis had gotten back into the hotel room, gotten their clothes back on after nearly freezing to death, and cooperated with Zayn in order to find something to watch on the television (settling on a “safe” channel that only shows Louis’ face _once,_ when it’s playing a commercial of one of the sneakers Louis’ currently endorsing), all has been relatively peaceful.  Louis remains laid on his stomach upon one of the beds, his face closer to the television as a towel is draped over his shoulders, and his mussed wet hair still dripping color onto it.  Harry doesn’t even know how he got here, but he’s on the second bed with Zayn, sat up against the headboard and allowing the man to use a purple pen he’d found on the nightstand in order to draw on his skin.  He’d complained after finding the purple pen about desperately needing a “canvas”, and since a simple sheet of paper obviously wasn’t going to do the trick, he was exceedingly intrigued about the idea of drawing on Harry’s skin. 

Harry had chosen the spot on his neck that Louis usually kisses first for Zayn to draw on, the point of the pen tickling his skin in a good way as the boy works carefully, and the silver clip-on cross earring that Zayn has dangling from one ear mesmerizing Harry in a way that’s almost annoying.  He’d claimed he was drawing a flower, but honestly, Harry’s fully prepared to see a penis on his neck when this whole thing is over.

“Like, I’ve gotta say, when you first showed up with this one, I was a bit thrown off…” Zayn continues, voice distracted as a particularly solid stroke of the pen tickles Harry even more.  “Because I’d never seen you with him before, and usually I’m pretty up to date with whoever you’re fucking.  The whole world is, really.”

Louis brings his eyes away from the television he’d been diligently watching (probably waiting for his commercial again), looking back at Zayn for a moment with a face that clearly shows his aversion to the words the boy is using.  “Well, we were pretty good at hiding.”

“Wait…” Zayn begins, sitting up as he pauses his art for a moment, staring at Louis incredulously, his distracting earring clinking against his neck in the process.  “This has been a _thing_ for like…longer than a _week_?”

Louis buries his head in his arms as he rests it upon the bed, nodding halfheartedly.  “Yes, yes it has.”

“And you never _told_ me?”

“That was kind of the thing,” Louis mumbles, shrugging a shoulder.  “One of his rules was that it wasn’t in everyone’s face.”

“Yeah, that was a dealbreaker of mine when we started,” Harry continues.  “Had to be mostly private about all of it.  I don’t like crowds.  And especially being swarmed by them.”

Zayn’s silent for a moment, the small twitch of his lips making it seem like he’s almost entertained by this information as he moves his gaze toward where Harry sits in front of him.  “You tried to be private…with _Louis_ …” he says, gesturing at the boy across the room as though it’s unbelievable.  “And you really thought it would last?”

Harry rolls his eyes as he rests his head back against the headboard, definitely not needing to have this all brought back to him right now.  “The break up wasn’t my fault,” he says with a sigh, closing his eyes to the feeling of Zayn’s pen touching his skin again.

“Ugh…” Louis groans into the blankets.  “Here it comes…”

“It was his.”

“ _I know it was my fault_ ,” Louis sings.  “Stop reminding me all the time, please and thank you.”

“I’ll stop reminding you all the time when it stops being your fault.”

“Ladies, ladies,” Zayn laughs, pausing his strokes again, hand going idle upon Harry’s shoulder.  “I didn’t mean to start up an argument.”

“Don’t act like you don’t survive off of drama and entertainment.  This is exactly what you wanted,” Louis says with a snort.

Harry’s mostly over this conversation as he reaches for his phone where he’d tossed it upon the bed, with plans to check the time as Louis and Zayn begin their daily useless back and forth antics.

“So now it’s _my_ fault that you guys have a shit relationship,” Zayn retorts, the laugh in his voice ever present.

Harry would’ve been keen on listening for Louis’ response, but what flashes across his phone screen as soon as he clicks it on shuts his ears off.

He’d thought he was done with this.

He’d thought it’d begun and fucking _ended_ this morning, since his phone had been null of activity ever since.

Yet there it is, right in front of Harry’s eyes as he stares down at the device in his lap.

And it’s a fucking _text_ this time.  From that same unknown number.

_You two should seriously reconsider what you’re about to do._

Harry’s eyes are frozen as he keeps them exactly where they are, Zayn and Louis continuing in the background as he feels as though his phone is cemented to the palm of his hand.

The moment stretches on for a long time, Harry dissociating gradually as he continuously reads over it, his mind screaming at him that this can’t be a prank, that he should take this seriously and stop letting people ease him out of a freakout.

And then his phone is vibrating wildly with a phone call, causing him to literally jerk in response to it, losing grip of his phone as it falls and gets lost in the sheets.  After he spends some time fishing it out, Zayn and Louis seeming to have finally gone quiet upon noticing Harry’s abrupt reaction, he brings the screen to his face in order to see who it is that’s calling.

And it’s Liam.

Admittedly, he has rejected at least ten calls from Liam since this whole thing has started, and he hasn’t thought much of it, because the boy doesn’t really need to know where he is and carry the stress of the situation he’s going through.

But clearly, he’s concerned enough to continuously call Harry as though he needs to talk to him or something, so Harry takes the liberty of finally answering the call, his heart rate slowing as he brings the phone to his ear.

“Oh my god you’re alive,” is the first thing the boy says, Harry not even having said a word yet.

The sound of his voice stills Harry a bit, because it sends him back in time to just three days ago with a subtle flash.  He’s suddenly reminded of exactly how void his life was before this, how unhappy he was with everything, how he was on the verge of just…slipping.  He hates that he associates Liam’s voice with that now, since the boy is actually a ray of sunlight and had done nothing besides do his best to cheer Harry up whenever he could.

“Yes, I am,” Harry says, nodding his head and feeling the weight of both Louis’ and Zayn’s eyes on him.

“So what the fuck is going _on_ , dude?” he asks, the concern in his tone making Harry wince.  Why does this guy care about him so much?  “Are you okay?  Are you a criminal now—literally everyone’s talking about you around here.  Like, _everyone_!”

Harry rubs a hand down the side of his face, exhaustion creeping up on him as Liam continues his upward spiral of excitement on the other end of the phone.  “Just—no.  I’m not a criminal.  And I’m fine, I guess.  I’m doing fine, um…” he scratches his neck, eyes wandering toward Louis as the boy remains rested in the bed, blinking at him slowly.  “Just please don’t tell anyone anything about who I am, or my number, or anything.”

He’s aware it may be too late for that as his eyebrows pull together, but it’s still worth a try.

“Oh…” Liam says, and yep.  It’s definitely too late.

Harry sits up, becoming much more alert in just a few seconds whilst he holds the phone more firmly.  “What?”

“Well, some people came by—like, a while ago, actually,” he says, offering half of a laugh.  “As soon as you guys robbed that store, they came here, asking about you.  Some guys, a girl.  They seemed young and chill, so I figured they were some friends who were worried, or something.”

Harry’s eyes have grown exponentially by the end of the boy’s words, already feeling red in the face as he resists the urge to choke something.  “Liam,” he says, the calmness of his voice even scaring himself.  “I don’t have any _friends_!”

“Hey, _hey…_ ” Liam begins, reacting in response to Harry’s outburst.  “It’s not like I ratted you out to the cops or some shit—and the cops _did_ come over by the way, and I didn’t tell them a thing.  Told them I didn’t even know you.”

“Yeah, but what about those _other_ people you were talking about?” Harry asks, his hand working through his hair.

“I thought you _knew_ them.  I’m sorry,” Liam says, followed by a solemn sigh.  “I just gave them your number, is all.  I didn’t give them your social and your date of birth, for goodness’ sake.”

So there.  That’s that.

Harry holds in the scream of aggravation that he wants to let out and instead caves in on himself, the phone still against his ear as Liam goes on about how absurd it is that Harry’s even freaking out right now, even going as far as to ask if he’s on drugs.

“Liam, I’m going to hang up now,” Harry says.  “Just please, don’t worry about me anymore.  And _don’t_ tell anyone else _anything_ about me.”

“But Harry, when are you coming back?  How am I supposed to explain—“

Harry’s already pressed to end the phone call before he finishes, not possessing the mental capacity to juggle so many troublesome hypotheticals at once. 

“So,” Louis begins, pursing his lips.  “You can go ahead and explain what that was about.”

“And who the hell is Liam?” Zayn asks, the confusion loud on his face.

“He’s my roommate,” Harry says, his eyes focused on the bed sheets as he keeps his eyes downcast and his mind jumbled.  “He…”

“What, love?” Louis asks, concern sprinkled in his words as he shifts in order to sit up.  “Tell me.”

Harry lifts his phone in the air, staring at Louis as he speaks purposefully.  “That number.  The one that called me this morning—fuck, it _texted_ me like five minutes ago, and Liam said he gave some random guys my number.  That’s probably who that is.”

Louis grows silent, his perplexed state growing as he sits up with his weight leaned into one of his palms.

“I…I don’t even _know_ anyone,” Harry says, voice small and eyes down upon the phone.  “Why would anyone come looking for me?”

“You guys got a phone call?” Zayn asks, clearly several steps behind in this whole thing.

Harry nods tiredly as he clicks to unlock his phone, already navigating towards his text messages and figuring there’s nothing they could possibly lose now.  “And a text.  Just now.”  He shows Zayn his screen, the boy leaning forward as his lazy hazed eyes go focused upon the words of the text, and Louis sits up more in Harry’s peripheral, bringing a pinky toward his teeth as the silence continues for a while.

“Yep, you guys are dead,” Zayn says with a shrug, pulling his eyes away from the device.

“What?” Louis asks incredulously, brows knitting.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you guys don’t get this shit out of your hands soon, you’re probably gonna be dead,” Zayn explains, the easiness of his tone bringing Harry to physically resist from choking him.  “Shit.  I probably should’ve done everything to convince Bruce to take the ring, instead I think I scared him a bit.”  He laughs lightly, obviously thinking back on it.  “Talking about the narks and shit.”

“Why would you do that when you know the goal of this whole thing is to get him to _take_ the ring, idiot?” Louis asks, practicing perfect aim when he picks up one of the pillows and throws it towards the boy’s head, Zayn only smacking it away after it’s alright gotten him in the eye.

Zayn shrugs again, this time getting defensive as he lifts his hands uselessly.  “I dunno, I was just talking…letting him know what he’s getting into.  You know, like a friend should.”

Harry’s relaxed voice still manages to be quite cutting when he opens his mouth, not even possessing the ability to move his eyes as he speaks, instead keeping them set down upon where his phone rests within the sheets.

“Louis.  I think I’m seriously going to choke your friend.”

Louis’ already shuffling out of the bed before Harry’s finished speaking, Zayn laughing through all of it as Louis joins them upon the bed, knees tucked underneath himself as he brings the gentle grip of his hands down upon Harry’s wrists, keeping them down against his lap.

“There isn’t going to be any choking,” Louis says with a sigh.

“But he’s so…” Harry replies, voice whispery as he locks eyes with Louis.  “It’s like he doesn’t even care about helping us—“

“Hey, it’s not _my_ fault that your stupid roommate gave your number to some random serial killers,” Zayn says, shaking his head as he pushes himself off of the bed.  “It’s not _my_ fault that now you—along with Liam, as nice as he seems—are probably gonna get beaten, robbed, and left on the street somewhere, and it could’ve easily been prevented if you’d told me about this sooner.  All you guys gotta do now is give that ring away and then hide for the rest of your lives, because they’re definitely gonna murder you.”  He blows a yawn into his fist as he moves toward the rack near the closet that has complimentary white towels hanging off of it, getting one down and slinging it over his shoulder as he moves toward the bathroom.  “Now, I’m gonna go shower, and hopefully when I get out, you guys are done attacking _me_ about stuff that _you_ caused, since you know, I’m the one who gave you shelter and transportation.”

The bathroom door closes rather calmly behind him, only adding to the trepidation within Harry’s chest as he allows Zayn’s words to poke at him like a persistent knife.  All Louis does is frown as he continues to stroke Harry’s wrists, obviously torn about all of this as well.

“So what?”  Harry whispers, shaken as his brings his eyes to meet the boy’s.  “What now?  Do we just give away the ring and then still have these guys coming after us?”

Louis sucks in a wavering breath before blowing a substantial amount of air out of his mouth, making it known he’s exhausted of constantly worrying about this stupid gold ring day in and day out.  “Well, hear me out…” Louis begins, and by the way his expression changes, Harry just _knows_ he’s going to say something he won’t like.

And surprise, that’s exactly what happens.

“It could still just be a joke someone’s trying to pull—“

“A _joke_?” Harry asks, already reaching for his phone again as Louis shakes his head.  “The fucking text they sent made it clear they know exactly what we’re up to—“

“Okay, then it’s a stalker,” Louis offers, shrugging as though it’s no big deal as Harry’s expression hardens immensely.  “I’ve dealt with them before—I deal with them all the time, and honestly, I uh…” He itches at the skin where his neck meets his shoulder, breaking gaze with Harry.

Harry leans forward, twisting his hands around in order to caress Louis more properly, the sound of the shower starting up faint in the background of everything.

Louis sucks in another breath, his palm now rested against the back of his neck.  “I had been feeling like that was going on.  Before I came and visited you.  I sensed that someone was stalking me again, or something.  Following me and stuff, and it kinda contributed to why I was acting up.  I just felt like I could never catch a break.”

Harry’s lips are parted, his mind not being able to comprehend why the boy isn’t up in arms about this.  “What…why didn’t you say anything—“

“Because it’s not a big deal.  That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Louis says, reaching out a hand to set against Harry’s shoulder.  “Texting cryptic shit, making empty threats just to meet me—that’s just what stalkers do.  It’s literally nothing.”

“They went to where I _live_ —“

“And when this is all over, I’ll have my security team backing me up again, and as usual, they’ll take care of it.”

Harry bites his tongue—literally, wanting so badly to scream that this doesn’t seem like some crazed fan who wants to scare the living shit out of their idol.  He figures that of all people, however, Louis should know more about this than himself since he’s dealt with it repeatedly, so maybe he should stick to what he’s been trying to beat into himself since this whole fiasco began: trust the boy.

“Baby…” Louis begins, the gentle softness of his voice getting Harry to move his lips so that they faintly graze his hand.  “Love.  All of this’ll be behind us soon.  I promise.”

A promise from Louis should really mean nothing, and Harry knows that.  But he’s currently in this fantasy world of running away with the man and putting his life in his hands, so he finds himself effortlessly believing in him.

He didn’t even really have that much of a life before this anyway, so does it really matter?

At some point, and by some form of magic, they find themselves finally snuggled in bed, all of the lights turned off as Zayn lays sound and asleep in the bed across the room (he fell asleep after casually telling them about how they’re going to die some more, of course).

Harry knows Louis isn’t asleep because of the fact that they’re facing each other, Harry’s nose burrowed in Louis’ chest as his hands stroke at the boy’s back and waist.  He can’t help that so many troubled thoughts keep sprinting through his head, ranging from whether or not even Liam (pure, kind _Liam_ ) is safe, to if they’ll even make it through this very night.

“So…what about all that stuff Zayn said?” Harry whispers, moving one of his hands under Louis’ shirt and tugging him in by his waist.  His words are mumbled against the cotton material, his eyes open and blinking.  “You don’t believe all that, do you?”

“’Course not,” Louis says, his voice a mere breath.  “Zayn just thinks he’s living in some sort of action film.  He’s always been like this.”

One side of Harry’s grin comes to life for half a moment, and he brings both of his arms up in order to wrap around Louis’ neck, scooting himself up on the bed so that their noses graze each other.

“There’s nothing much to worry about, okay?” Louis says, eyes closed.  “Just trust me.”

Harry swallows, his eyes studying the lashes resting upon Louis’ cheekbones and picking apart the details of the shadows they make, just the sound of that sentence terrifying him to no end.  Louis terrifies him so much.

“Should I?”

Louis strokes a thumb against Harry’s cheek , chewing his lip for a moment before speaking.  “I haven’t given you any reason to.  I know.”

He shifts just a little, Harry feeling the cold air of his absence as the boy settles more on his back, facing up towards the ceiling as Harry hangs off of him.  “So I’m not gonna force you to trust me, or anything.”  His voice is less committal as he huffs the words out, the sound of the ticking clock somehow helping the blooming tension.  “I…I know what I did…”

Harry smoothes a hand over Louis’ skin, working his fingers toward the boy’s jawbone as he brings his own forehead to touch the side of his face.  He closes his eyes, gently shushing the boy and vaguely letting him know he doesn’t have to explain it again.  They don’t have to relive it.

“I’m choosing to trust you, okay?”

Harry can only hear the movement of the boy’s head nodding, and he lets one of his dimples deepen as he breathes Louis in some more, not even fully registering the magnitude of his vocal decision.

Harry gets himself propped upon Louis’ chest, offering his pinky out to the boy and not attempting to hide his grin.

He’s glad to see the upward curve of Louis’ lips as well, the boy swinging his pinky around Harry’s, the both of them moving forward in order to kiss each other’s thumbs.

Harry ducks downward to bring his lips to Louis’ as well, Louis’ mouth catching him just in time, and their hands remaining softly attached.  With every pucker of their lips over each other, the ticking of the clock fading as they begin to float, Harry closes his eyes and prays he won’t regret this.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh omg thanx for reading if ur still here, until the next update :)


	5. Five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter: told you so - paramore ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9M-w2IDlsk))
> 
> ~

 

 

Harry’s not sure if he’s simply seeing things, or if the sun is shining especially nicely from this point of view, and the fluffiness of the clouds behind it is almost something unreal.

It kind of makes sense that they would build a country club here—only the richest people should experience the best view, of course.

As Harry and Louis continue their steady streak of sneaking into shit and just flat out disregarding rules, they find themselves on the rooftop of one of the many large buildings of the country club at eight a.m.  Three hours before the place opens on this particular day.

Harry’s not sure what relation Blonde Guy has to this place, whether he’s a member, has close relatives here, or _whatever_ (again, Zayn probably did mention it at some point and Harry wasn’t listening), but Harry’s thankful that the guy brought them here, because otherwise this morning wouldn’t have been so eventful.

The plan was for Zayn and the buyer to meet up here before it opened, since he’s closely linked to this place somehow and there’ll be less eyes to watch upon them, and Louis and Harry were originally supposed to stay in the car, just like before, but that got boring fast. Especially since Zayn and whoever were _still_ taking an eternity to finalize a simple deal.

So they found themselves moving through the premises, Harry feeling refreshed after a night of being wrapped around Louis, the boy giving him all the reassurance he needed in order to feel convinced that they’re genuinely almost free of this.  Even Zayn had contributed to making Harry feel a little lighter, the boy assuring him that he was going to try his best to secure the deal today, and even letting Harry wear his cross earring in one ear (which Harry had definitely been admiring and secretly envying, and Zayn had probably noticed).

After venturing through many random doors and staircases, they’d made their way upon the rooftop, which is an enormous area where there’s a tennis court, a section full of yoga mats, and tons of free space and fake grass.  Just the knowledge that heaps of snobby people are usually here, swarming about and crowding up the place, yet Louis and Harry get to walk through everything peacefully, certainly evokes a calming feeling.

Louis and Harry had spent a good amount of time sitting upon the mats, Harry trying and failing at being as serious as possible as Louis tried to get him to try out his meditating techniques.  Eventually they were just rolling over each other on the ground, their shoes kicked off as they remained giggly and bathed in sunlight.

Somehow, that evolved into Louis actually _proving_ his claim that he’d been receiving private kickboxing lessons, bringing Harry to steal the decorative pillows off of the outside patio couches, sliding his hands under the elastic straps of them and using them as kick pads.

He can honestly say this is one of the funniest, yet intriguing, yet sexiest things he’s ever witnessed, Louis perfectly landing every forward punch with intensely concentrated eyes, his kicks even sharp and powerful enough to shut Harry right up about teasing him with this.

Harry doesn’t even know why he still gets surprised by this boy, honestly.  It isn’t new that he’s still stacking up a bunch of useless, hidden hobbies.

“This isn’t even hurting,” Harry comments, his legs in a lunged position and his arms fully extended as Louis surges forward with another crisp punch.  “C’mon, you can do better than this.”

Louis stops, bringing his braced fists back towards himself.  “My personal trainer was one of the best in the world,” he says, Harry offering a fake gasp in response.  “Trust me.  If I wanted to hurt you, I could.”

“So hot,” Harry says under his breath, Louis already having gone back to kicking with the side of his foot as a slow smirk creeps on his face.

“And that reaction from you,” Louis replies, stepping forward and landing another punch.  “Is exactly why I took these lessons.”

“You’re kidding,” Harry says, eyes bright as Louis pauses with his fists in front of himself.

“Well, that and being able to kick ass in self-defense of course,” Louis replies happily, releasing his fists before gesturing forth for Harry.  “Now switch with me.  I wanna teach you stuff.”

As bad of an idea as Harry knows that is, he complies anyway, and with his inability to take much of anything seriously (that had pretty much started from the moment he woke up this morning) he ends up missing the pillows by large margins, disregarding all the pointers that Louis keeps barking at him and even managing to trip over his own foot.  Eventually Louis is giving up, reaching for Harry’s crooked leg in the air before it even hits the pillow and tugging the boy, the both of them once again becoming one with the ground in a heap of effortless laughter and full cheeks.

“How much longer do you think they’re gonna take?” Harry asks at some point, managing a somewhat decent front kick against the pillow, his fists braced near his chest and the sound of the dangling earring near his ear. 

“I dunno, but now I’m kinda hoping they take their time,” Louis laughs, his lunge rock solid as Harry tries another weak kick.  “I wanted to try out the tennis court next, see if they left the racquets out.”

Harry’s eyebrows rise with delight, because he’d pretty much been thinking the same thing, suddenly not even knowing why he doesn’t care about how long they take anymore.  His phone hasn’t gone off since last night, he and Louis are probably the happiest they’ve been with each other in a long time, and Harry feels alive.  Hiding from the world is rewarding, in a way.  His “real life”, as opposed to Louis’, _sucked._ Why in the world should they be in such a rush to go back?

“But just imagine,” Louis says, allowing Harry to take the pillows from him, Harry slipping his hands back into them so he can watch Louis kick again (it’s fucking _hot_ , okay?).  “Going back to the outside world, being innocent, getting to be left alone.”

“I was pretty much always left alone anyway, so,” Harry says, biting the corner of his lip as Louis lunges forth again with a grunt.

“That’s the thing—we’ll get to be left alone _together_ now,” Louis says, his kick faltering a bit.  “I…I mean, if you’ll have me—like…if you’d actually wanna be properly…”  He lands another punch, pursing his lips as he keeps his eyes concentrated on the pillows and far away from Harry’s eyes.  “Together, and stuff.”

Harry’s solid stance where he’s holding the pillows up comes down slowly, his heart thrumming in his ears and his eyes feeling much fuller.

Louis pauses hesitantly, bringing his fists down and still having a difficult time looking Harry in the eyes.  The quiet seems almost boomingly loud as all that can be heard is the moderate wind moving in between them.

“I…” Harry begins, his voice almost catching in his throat as he feels a slew of emotions coming at him.  “I would.  Like that.”

And wow.  They have really come full circle in a matter of days.

Louis’ lips only pull upward on one side with a nervous smirk, the boy shrugging his shoulders as he shifts on his feet.  “Okay, then.  Cool.”

Remember the emotions Harry felt coming at him?  They actually make their arrival at this very moment, Harry not even knowing what _triggered_ it as he finds himself breaking down, immediately bringing his hands to his face, realizing he still has the pillows attached to them, and then quickly shaking them off, all while being a sniffling, huffing, teary-eyed mess.

Louis quickly turns concerned as he steps toward Harry, arms outstretched.  “What’s wrong, love?”

It’s just.  The memory of what he went through, and the knowledge that he could just be opening up the door for it to happen again is terrifying him.  He doesn’t know how to let Louis go, and just for once, he wants to stop making the wrong decision.  He wants choosing Louis this time around, accepting him into his life again, to be a _good_ decision.  Not one that kicks him in the ass and sends him back into a lonely ditch for several months.

“Just please,” Harry huffs, sucking his bottom lip for a moment, not even having control of his stuttered breaths as he wipes away at his cheeks.  “Don’t fuck me over this time.  Please?”

He’s practically begging, as pathetic as it is.  He’s _begging_ for Louis not to hurt him again like last time, _begging_ for the boy not to brutally murder him in the way he did.  His heart seriously will not be able to withstand it again.

“Baby, I won’t,” Louis whispers, a foot still left between him and Harry, as though he’s cautious about stepping into Harry’s meltdown bubble.  “I won’t.”

Harry stands there, breathless as he smoothes a hand at his cheek in order to do away with the wetness, knowing he’s proving himself to be nothing but a bottled up mess.  He’s always known he was a mess, anyway.

Louis has seen him like this many times before, so Harry’s sure it’s definitely not a shock to him.

He even laughs a little through the tears that are slowly coming to a stop, Louis once again smiling as he shakes his head at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” Harry begins, inhaling shakily as he feels the sting of his reddened eyes. 

“Don’t be sorry, love,” Louis says.  “We’ll do this again, and we’ll make it work— _I’ll_ make it work.  I’ll do everything to make it work.”

Harry nods, blinking the heaviness away as he toys with the dangling cross he has on, feeling almost exhausted with emotion.

“Because…I love you,” Louis continues, his hands coming behind his back and his shoulders lifting uselessly.  “And I don’t care if you believe me or not when I say that.  It’s just true.  You’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I think you should know that.”

It doesn’t throw Harry for a loop, hearing the boy say this.  They’ve obviously said it to each other many times before, even though it hasn’t been said in quite a while.  It just leaves Harry conflicted, and once again praying that the boy actually means it.

“I wanna believe you,” Harry says, followed by another sniffle.  “So I’m just gonna.” 

And he finds himself reaching his arms out, pretty much making grabby hands at Louis as the boy remains so unnecessarily far away.  “Come here.”

Louis’ practically falling into him like a feather as they bring themselves together for a hug, Harry still sniffling as he buries his nose against the crook of the boy’s neck and grasps him wherever he can.  He feels better than he’s felt in months, and he’s absolutely certain there will never come a day where he isn’t a sucker for this boy.  That’s just the kind of power Louis has on him, what with being the first boy he’s ever loved and all.  It’s a pretty big deal.

Now he’s not even that worried about going back to their regular lives, knowing Louis’ going to make time for him, knowing he’s going to have a chance at being happy again.  It only makes him excited for the future, which is a feeling Harry truly never thought he’d be able to experience again.

Harry’s moving his fingers through the daisy fields that are Louis’ hair strands, nuzzling the side of his face against them and relishing Louis’ arms snug around his waist as he remains on top of the world, literally—when he flutters his eyes open and sees something out of the corner of his view.

Harry moves his eyes fully towards the vague spot he’d seen in his peripheral, his gaze landing upon something extremely tiny behind Louis’ ear, tucked quite deep where it is, which brings it to make sense that Harry hadn’t noticed this until now.

Harry brings his index finger toward it, his brows creased as he struggles to grasp what this almost microscopic, protruding spot on the boy’s skin could be, and as soon as his finger pad presses it, it comes off, almost as though it had been stuck there deliberately.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, coming out of Louis’ shoulder carefully, with the spot (which now clearly has a metal part surrounding it if he looks close enough) still upon his finger, eyes almost going crossed as he stares at it.  Louis still has him loosely around the waist as Harry brings his finger between them.

Louis’ looking down at it right along with him, and it’s clear in his changing facial expression that he has absolutely no recollection or knowledge of where that thing possibly could’ve came from.  His lips only part momentarily, the both of them wordless as potential possibilities start to flood into their minds.

But that doesn’t last for long—of _course_ it doesn’t, because Harry’s fucking phone vibrates in his pocket.

He’s mentally crossing his fingers as he detaches himself from Louis in order to dig into his back pocket, praying to the heavens that it’s Liam and no one else as Louis continues to stand there silent and confused, running a hand over his ear and through the hair strands nearby.

Harry’s index finger is extremely still as he holds the fleck, his other hand blindly swiping in order to answer the phone as his eyes stay concentrated on his fingertip, intent not to drop whatever this thing is.

He figures he should’ve been looking at the phone though, because the voice that immediately comes about on the other side of it isn’t Liam’s.

“So you found it.”

There’s a long, eerie pause that follows, Harry not even offering any words, and the look on Louis’ face as he watches indicating he already knows what’s happening on the other end of the phone. 

“Now you know how we’ve been able to listen to everything Louis says, everything he hears, everywhere he’s supposedly going—all of it.  We know what deal you two are about to make, and if you value your lives, you won’t go through with it.”

“So you chipped him?” Harry asks, his jaw clenching as he flicks the thing away from his finger and onto the pavement.  He finds his feet already shuffling backwards and his hand reaching out for Louis’ forearm, feeling determined to get to the entrance door of this roof and find Zayn wherever he is.

“It wasn’t that hard, really,” the voice continues, and the condescending tone of it has Harry’s blood boiling, both he and Louis getting through the door and moving down the stairs toward the lobby.  “Louis Tomlinson’s a careless boy, and we noticed it as we kept up with him in the news columns.  Getting his private number was kind of difficult though, which is why we had to dig up information on you.”

Harry knows there isn’t any reason for him to continue to put himself through listening to this, since his teeth are now grinding together as he and Louis are finally walking with quick feet down one of the halls that supposedly contain conference rooms (as a sign had indicated), their socked feet hitting the thinly carpeted floors with great speed, and the few employees that have now arrived roaming the building and making double-takes at them.

“How did you get it on him?” Harry asks, his voice frigid as he swings his head in order to look into the glass windows of room after room, growing frantic the further they travel and find that everything’s vacant.  He doesn’t even register the sound of someone they fly past asking them what they’re doing here.  “Jesus, why can’t you just leave him _alone_?”

“Louis should really be more careful about letting himself out in public without protection,” the voice comes about again, Harry starting to feel defeated once they’re reaching the end of the hall with no luck, his breath beginning to fall short.  “Especially at the mall.”

Which, that doesn’t even make _sense_ , because Louis’ bodyguard was with them the entire time they were at the fucking mall—

Except for when Louis had rushed up to yell at him, and they’d been out in the open.

And someone had bumped into Louis.

 _Shit_.

Harry doesn’t allow his mind to muse over it, however, because it’s done, it happened, and now he just has to figure out a way to fix it.  He keeps his mind dead-set on doing _that_ as he’s shoving the door open at the end of the hall that leads to the stairwell, and quite surprisingly and luckily, finding Zayn and his person conversing at the bottom of it, his friend actually _holding_ the ring in his palm as Zayn sits on one of the steps.

Harry doesn’t waste any moments before basically flying for the ring in the guy’s hand and taking it swiftly, turning his ears off to any whine, and protest, and disbelieving call of his name that’s going to be thrown his way.  He shuts his phone off, grabs Louis by the arm again, and is rushing them out of the nearby exit door in the stairwell, the abrupt yelling of Zayn falling far behind them.

“Harry, what—“

“They’ve been stalking you,” Harry says to Louis, struggling to keep the panic out of his voice and his gaze set forward in order to figure out how they’re supposed to navigate through the outside structures in order to get to their car.  “And not just like—fucking celebrity stalking, but they fucking _chipped_ you!  They’ve been listening to _everything_ , and… _shit_ —we have to get out of here.”

It seems Louis’ pretty easily on board with all of this, and soon he’s leading the way through the several sidewalks, grass fields, and even _more_ confused, inquiring employees as they rush on their feet.

 “What are you _doing?”_ Zayn asks, Harry not even realizing that he’d been following behind them just as fast.   “You know now he’s just gonna fucking turn us in, right?  Not just you— _us!”_

“Zayn, that’s the _least_ of our worries right now!” Louis yells over his shoulder as they’re traversing the sidewalk near the gates, the boy immediately heading for the driver’s side once their car comes into view.  “ _Fuck_ your friend!  Seriously.”

And as Harry throws himself into the passenger seat, intent to get as _far_ as hell away from here as possible, he’s grateful that Louis actually took the time to pay attention to the many times Zayn’s started up this getaway car, because he’s toying with the wires as though he knows what he’s doing, and Zayn’s sliding into the backseat with a loaded groan, getting ready to shout more complaints at them.

“I swear, if I have the feds coming after me because of you two—“ Zayn begins, cutting himself off with a smack of his teeth as the car finally starts up.  “I was living so comfortable before this, and you two just fucking come in and—“

“We found a _chip_ ,” Harry says sharply, picking his leather bag up off of the floor under the seat and sliding the ring back into it.  “We found a fucking chip on _Louis_.”

“They were listening to literally everything we said, knowing our every _move_!” Louis exclaims exasperatedly, nearly stepping on the gas as he pulls out of the gate despite pedestrians giving him dirty looks.  “How did they even _do_ that?”

“Are you serious?” Zayn asks, the paranoia _finally_ seeming to have spread to him as he gets jostled around in the backseat with no regard for putting on his seatbelt.

“Yes, and I’m one hundred percent certain that if we give that ring away, something bad’s gonna happen,” Harry says matter-of-factly, settling back in his seat as much as he can manage and holding the bag to his chest.  “We just have to return this.  That way we can at least have security with us again, and—“

“Are you out of your _mind_?” Louis explodes, his eyes wide as he stares at Harry whilst zooming down the road (this feels familiar).  “We can’t fucking _return_ it!”

“Then what the shit are we _supposed_ to do now, then?” Harry asks, his intensity matching Louis’.

Louis’ shoulders come up to his ears as he faces the road again, his face portraying how torn and muddled he is right now.  “I dunno…we’ll come up with something else—“

“No.  _No,_ Louis.  We’re turning this in, we have to go to the police, we—fuck.”  He’s tripping over his own words, his mind not even fully evened out.  “We just need to turn ourselves in and accept whatever the fuck happens.”

Louis laughs dryly as his head hits the back of his seat.  “You’ve gotta be kidding me, Harry.  That is literally the _dumbest_ thing we could do.”

“So I suppose you have another plan of action then, genius?”

“I…” Louis begins, shaking his head as a car honks at them for getting cut off.  “We’ll have to think of something—“

“There’s literally _no_ other fucking plan!” Harry erupts, not even noticing the trembling of his fingers where he’s still clutching the bag.  “Maybe it’s time you finally got yourself out of this magic world where you’re too prissy to deal with the consequences of your own actions!  You did some shit, and now you have to face it!”

“Yeah, the consequences of _my_ actions,” Louis says, his voice loud and drenched in sarcasm, Harry almost certain he has no idea of where he’s even driving to.  “ _My_ actions, where I walked out of a jewelry store with a trillion dollar ring on my finger.”

Harry’s lips are parted and his eyebrows are raised as his gaze intensifies upon the profile of Louis’ red face, actually finding it laughable that the boy is pinning this to him right now.  “Yeah, _your_ actions.  You know, when you fled from the police for no reason, crashed into a public site, and escaped the scene.  _Those_ actions!”

“Don’t act like you weren’t on board with all of it!” Louis shouts, the vibrations of the both of them yelling just about shaking every withered edge of this rundown car.

“It was either be on board with it or _die!”_ Harry says incredulously, throwing a hand up.  “It isn’t like you’re exactly open to listening to any ideas that aren’t your own.”

“Please kill me,” Zayn mutters from the back, followed by another heavy groan.  “We’re about to die and they’re still arguing, as though they both aren’t idiots.”

Harry’s nostrils are quickly flared as he throws his head back against the chair.  “Yeah, _we’re_ the idiots—“

“He’s right!” Louis exclaims, Harry’s eyes darting towards him.  “Let’s just stop this shit right now—it isn’t helping anyone.”  He closes his eyes for two seconds, taking a brief moment to cool down as he breathes in and out, before opening his eyes again and gesturing his head towards Zayn.  “Now just tell me how to get back to the apartment.  I’ve never said your address out loud, so we should be safe there.”

The sound of Zayn cursing quite colorfully under his breath can be heard in the backseat, and all Harry does in response to that is keep his mouth zipped and his jaw tightened just a touch. 

The ride back is as tense as it’s supposed to be when the people in the car have just found out they’ve had all of their conversations, destinations, and probably even _thoughts_ listened to over the last few days, they have no idea whether there are any chips anywhere else (although they do spend some time in the car searching over the rest of their bodies), and there’s also a very believable threat being made towards them where they’re almost certain they’re going to get hurt no matter the outcome of this situation.

But Harry’s putting his foot down this time.  There’s only one option left, and it consists of turning both themselves and this stupid ring in, and accepting however they’re going to be handled, since they _both_ played a part in making dumb decisions during this whole ordeal.  Having Louis in charge _did_ help things coast along a bit, and they were _getting_ there, they were, but Harry’s not sure how much more blind trust he has left in himself.

Despite the both of them constantly reassuring the man that there’s nothing _he_ has to worry about since they never said Zayn’s address out loud, and that only the two of them are in imminent danger, Zayn is still muttering about how there better not be a harmed hair on Niall’s head as they find themselves finally walking (or rushing) up the stairs of the apartment building with glass eyes.

After Louis’ repeated, anxious knocking at the door, the boy almost takes Niall’s eye out once it finally opens, but thankfully (because Harry was starting to get just a bit worried—of whether or not Niall was okay _and_ what Zayn would do to them if he wasn’t) the boy looks visually unharmed.

“Took you long enough,” he says with a sigh, before turning back toward the suite.

Once they follow inside behind him, they’re stopped just short of entering, however, because it’s quite hard to miss their belongings—the tote bag they came with, a bunch of other stuff they’ve used in order to somewhat maintain themselves, even the _bed sheets_ and _pillows_ they’d slept upon—neatly stacked and pushed against the wall near the entrance, as though some hotel room maid got it nice and ready for them.

“What is this?” Louis asks, wide eyes moving from the bags, up to Niall as the boy scratches at his hair and turns around.

“Oh, uh…” he purses his lips, shrugging one of his shoulders and sliding his hands into his pockets.  “Zayn texted me and told me to pack your shit up.”

Both Louis and Harry’s gazes fly toward Zayn with thundering question, the guy managing to look guilty and determined at the same time.  “What!” he asks, throwing his hands up.  “It’s dangerous for _me,_ keeping you guys here.”

Louis cocks his head to the side as he sighs, making a point to cross his arms.  “Wow, Zayn.  So what about _us_?”

“What about _me_?” Zayn asks, gesturing at his chest as he steps toward Louis.  “I have tons of weed here.  _Pounds_.  Pounds that could probably get me sent to jail for life, and I don’t feel like moving again.  If you were a real friend, you’d understand I can’t have fugitives living here who have random top-secret people after them.”

Harry chews on the inside of his cheek, Louis’ face hardening as though he definitely has something to say back to him, even though obviously, the both of them are drawing a blank right about now. 

Zayn makes sense, but still.  Harry has no idea of where to go from here.

“Plus,” Zayn says, his voice slightly hushed as he extends a sharp hand toward their belongings.  “You guys are probably chipped in a dozen other places, and I don’t wanna take that risk.”

“We’ll check everything,” Louis replies, already moving towards the pile of sheets on top, unraveling them as he crouches down.  “We’ll make sure we’re clean, just…” The boy takes a second to sigh, the shutting of his eyes showing just how defeated he is in this situation, and also bringing Harry to not want to do anything else besides cuddle him.  Cuddle him and assure him that it’s all going to be okay, even though being optimistic was never really his own thing.

“One more night,” Louis says, bringing his voice low as he turns his eyes toward Zayn.  “And then we’ll be gone.  Please?”  And he’s doing those eyes.  The ones that have always gotten Harry to fall to his knees when he’d vowed to stand tall.  He’s using them on Zayn, and as Harry looks back and forth between them, it seems to be working.  So he gives it the little push that it needs.

“Zayn, c’mon,” Harry adds, his tone bordering on teasing.  “I mean, you wouldn’t wanna lose your biggest celebrity client, would you?”

“He’s right,” Louis tacks on, rising to his feet as his eyes remain helpless and pretty, and his fingers toy with his nails.  “You know I was always your favorite.  Don’t throw me out on the street.”

Zayn shakes his head as he folds his arms over his chest, although the roll of his eyes clearly has a bit of sentiment behind it.  “Whatever,” he scoffs.  “One more night.”

Louis basically throws himself at Zayn to give him a hug, the boy defiant in not returning it as Niall’s groan comes about in the background of it all.

“Only _one_ night, and you leave at the asscrack of dawn,” Zayn says, raising a finger as Louis kisses his cheek (which okay, that’s enough).  “And that’s _after_ you guys check every fucking inch of your shit— _and_ the room.   _All_ of it!”

Harry’s already nodding his head as he moves towards the contents of the tote bag, not seeing any reason to disagree with that.  “On it.”

“And now we’re gonna have more time to come up with a plan,” Louis says, grabbing the sheets again and completely shaking them open in order to let any potential spying devices fall from it.  “And you and I, Harry, can hopefully collaborate to come up with something…” He wrinkles his nose as he gets down on his knees and rubs at his knuckles, eyes now set upon the pillows as Harry waits for the rest of his sentence with a bored expression on his face.  “Something that makes more sense,” he finishes, his lips curving positively as he nods his head.  “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“Wow, do I not make sense?” Harry asks as he spreads out a faded t-shirt of Mrs. Margaret’s in front of himself.

He ignores the agitated moan that Zayn lets out behind him, followed by the boy beckoning Niall into the kitchen so that he doesn’t have to “listen to this again”.

“I never said that Harry,” Louis says wearily, his hands moving to spread everything out in front of himself as he continues to flip pillows over and scan them carefully with his eyes.  “I’m just saying we can do better if we put our heads together.  Now please, let’s just focus on this so that we can rest, and relax our minds for at _least_ until tonight.”

Harry doesn’t want to argue with that and seem like the world’s angriest man, so he complies, shrugging one of his shoulders and figuring there really _shouldn’t_ be anything to worry about for the next few hours. 

That is, unless the stalkers have already gotten to the country club, found that they weren’t there, and Zayn’s friend has already ratted out their location. 

Or if the police are currently on their way here if the stalkers just went ahead and gave them away themselves. 

Or if Liam is dead in the apartment right now for being a person that knows too much.

As much as all of the above thoughts should shake him up, the last one is what really gets him to pause, sitting back on his knees as he blinks down at the mess.

“Liam,” Harry says, voice quiet.

Louis hesitantly pauses what he’s doing, putting down the tote bag that he’d been shaking violently.  “What?”

“Liam,” Harry says, louder.  “I have to tell him to get out of there—get out of the apartment.  I’m afraid it’s not safe for him.”  He’s already shuffling around in order to reach into his back pocket for his phone.  “I-I’ll call him and make sure—“

“Wait,” Louis interrupts, placing his hands over Harry’s phone as worry becomes evident in his tone.  “How do you know they can’t just track you through your phone?  Figure out what calls you make, where you _are_ —“

Harry wants to fucking punch something, because after all that’s happened, Louis’ words seem like they make sense and it’s a valid fear and Jesus _fuck_ where did his freedom go?  He just wants to be back in the real world where he can at least have security in jail and not have to worry about creepy people trying to steal a stupid ring from him, and he just wants Liam _safe_ for Christ’s sake, and he can’t even have that?  Liam literally does _nothing_ wrong, and as much as Harry feels like shit every day, he will never experience worse than how it will feel if Liam ends up suffering in any part of this—

A confident knock at the front door brings Harry’s thoughts to an immediate silence, both he and Louis’ big eyes flying towards the wooden red of the door as they stay quiet.

Harry can hear Louis swallow as they just remain there, completely frozen in place and afraid to move for whatever reason as they literally sense the presence of another human being behind the front door.

Maybe they _won’t_ have a few more hours to rest after all.

Harry slowly sets his phone down amongst the clutter, already facing towards the door as Louis moves his now dubious gaze toward Harry instead.

The boy’s voice is whispered and sharp once Harry rises to his feet.  “What are you _doing—“_

He goes silent once Harry puts a finger up, gently quieting him down as he steps toward the door with feet that have never been lighter.

His heart is beating so loudly and rapidly that he’s almost certain it’s going to come right out of his chest whilst he walks up, but he continues, his Adam’s apple bobbing vividly as everything seems to come to an outrageously intense pause.

And when he looks into the tiny peephole of the front door, his heart is back to normal again.

Because it’s Liam.

And as soon as the sight of the man calms Harry, he finds himself sent right back into a state of deep bewilderment and shock as he unlocks the door and swings it open, because—why the fuck is Liam here right now?  Also, _how_ the fuck is Liam here right now?

“How in the _world_ are you here right now?” is the first thing Harry says once he’s standing in front of the guy he was somewhat acquainted with, living with, wearing the polyester jersey pants Harry’s always seen him in, his hair a bit more artistically mussed than usual, his lips beginning to form a small ‘O’, and his eyes growing wide and almost glistening as he steps forward.

“ _That’s_ the greeting I get?” Liam asks, pulling a highly confused Harry into a warm hug as he sighs with what sounds like relief.  “God, I’ve been worried sick about you.  What the fuck, dude?”

Harry’s mostly just standing there as Liam is gripping the material of his shirt, before the boy is pulling back, hands still braced against Harry’s arms as his eyes now take their time to move over the short hair framing his face, over the bandana he’s still using to maintain some sort of style, and ending upon the earring still hanging off of one ear.

“You look…different,” he says, voice low and hesitant.

“Thanks,” Harry replies, his brows still fixed together as he speaks.  “Now how are you here?”

He can hear movement from behind him, probably from where Louis is finally realizing Harry _isn’t_ kindly letting in a complete stranger who could possibly stone them to death.

“Oh,” Liam begins, letting his hands down as half a chuckle escapes his lips.  “Remember that friend request I sent you?”

Harry remains silent and in the dark, only blinking twice and showing no signs of recalling such a thing.

“The one you kept ignoring, and I kept begging you, so you accepted it just to get rid of the notification?” Liam says, and it seems he realizes when Harry starts to remember, because his lips begin to curve on one side.  Liam pulls his phone out of his pocket, waving it in the air with enthusiasm and a bright gaze.  “Friend Tracker App!”

Harry’s tightened face is starting to loosen a little bit, because at least this is starting to make _some_ sort of sense, but still…

“But…why would you—“

“ _Woah_ ,” comes Zayn’s voice, abrupt from behind Harry as he seems to be returning back from where he’d gone to.  “Harry, what the fuck?  You’re just opening the door for people?”  He sounds angrily exhausted as he walks forth with his hand out in front of him.

“I know him,” Harry sighs, only turning his head slightly in order to get the words over his shoulder.

“Oh, in that case, let him in,” Zayn says, his words heavy with sarcasm as he approaches the door frame.  “Let them _all_ in.  Let’s just trust every _fucking_ person in the world, then.”

“This is my _roommate_ , idiot,” Harry says sternly, leaning his side against the doorframe once Zayn is walking up next to him.  “Liam, remember?”

It appears that Zayn is finally brought down a few notches once he’s standing in front of the man too, and it also appears that he’s let whatever words he’d been about to spit become completely disregarded, because now he’s just staring at Liam’s face, and his eyes aren’t as lidded as they usually are, and…what?

“Oh,” Zayn says, his voice much more mellowed out as he tilts his head, letting it rest against the frame.  “So this is Liam.”

“Yep,” Harry says, pursing his lips for a moment.  “This is Liam.  He found me with a tracker.”

Zayn’s obviously tuned the entirety of Harry’s existence out, because he’s extending a hand towards Liam for greeting, starry gaze focused nowhere besides the eyes of the man in front of him.  “Zayn.”

“Cool,” Liam replies, shaking his hand and obviously immune to every spell Zayn is attempting to cast on him right now.

Zayn quickly shifts gears once their hands are detached, gesturing forth to Liam as he makes his entrance back into his apartment.  “No reason to stand out here, then.  Come in, make yourself comfy.”

And, of course.

Harry cannot believe this is happening right now.  

He doesn’t believe it when Liam is stepping inside and taking a few seconds to fangirl over Louis again (as well as acknowledge his “sick hair”), he doesn’t believe it when Niall is emerging from the kitchen after a while, immediately taking notice of Zayn asking what sign Liam is, and wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders.

“Zayn, I think there are more pressing things at hand than what Liam’s zodiac sign is, right?” Harry asks, his back rested against the now closed front door as he crosses his arms over himself.

“Yeah, I figure that too,” Liam says, scratching behind his neck as he steps toward Harry again.  “I was just really worried about you, didn’t know what was going on.  And you kept ignoring my calls, so.”  He shrugs uselessly, his hands open whilst Harry watches him.  “That’s why I’m here now.”

“And it’s…” Harry begins, rolling one of his shoulders out and somehow taking entirely too much energy to say it. “It’s good.  That you’re here.  It’s safe here, and I was beginning to worry too.”

“So what’s going on exactly?” Liam asks, eyes narrowing just a tad as his gaze moves over to where Louis is putting everything back into the bag he’s successfully looked through.  “It’s like—you guys seem chill, because you’re randomly staying in this super cool place that smells…like a _really_ fun time, but also…” He takes a few steps back, far enough to look at all of them within the entrance area of the apartment, Zayn with literal hearts over his eyes and Niall seriously looking like he’s one squeeze away from choking the man.  “You all seem really on edge.”

“Very insightful.  One of the obvious characteristics of a Virgo,” Zayn says, his lips stretching into a grin.

“ _Zayn_!” Louis exclaims, even _he_ having picked up on it as Zayn seems to rapidly snap out of it, shaking his head as one of his hands come up to caress where Niall’s arm is across his chest.

“C’mon, we’ll catch you up on all the important details in the living room,” Zayn says, gesturing with his head as he turns toward his destination.  “And you two still have to search through the entire room.  Don’t think I forgot.”

And there isn’t much said to them after that, just Liam following behind them with reeking uncertainty, Niall muttering a “who’s _we_?”, and Louis still sat down on the ground by the mess, his eyes holding exhaustion as he looks up at Harry.

Things are starting to seem more real, and also less real at the same time, as though this scenario has come completely out of a ridiculous movie.  The fact that Liam is here is making this all the more eye-opening, and Harry can feel himself gradually becoming paralyzed with worry as he begins to allow it to settle in—the magnitude of what he’s done, the magnitude of how worse it’s getting by staying hidden, the fact that people around him are getting dragged into this, the fact that his life is actively and seriously being _threatened,_ and that he may not even get out of this alive.  It’s all just becoming too much.

It’s legitimately scary.  He’s _scared_.

“Well,” Louis says, sort of like a confirming statement as he lets his shoulders shrug dejectedly.  “At least that’s solved.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, feeling himself not quite there as his eyes glaze over.  “Can we please go to the room so you can hold me?”

“’Course, babe,” Louis says, already shuffling up to his feet and scooping the chaotic belongings up in order to pile them into his arms.  Harry would help him carry them, but his feet are already moving towards the guest room as his eyes remain shadowy, and he can’t physically prioritize a single thing over getting into this foreign bed and having Louis hug him into feeling okay.

That’s what happens eventually, Harry finding himself underneath the sheets with Louis ( _after_ the boy had surveyed every nook and cranny for additional chips), his face to the boy’s chest and his arms wrapped low on his waist, the room remaining mostly dark as they share slow breaths.

“We…” Harry begins, words inaudible as they’re mumbled against Louis’ shirt, eyes tightly closed.  “We have to—“

He’s quieted by the sound of Louis shushing him gently, one of the boy’s palms buried in his hair in order to play with it, the other smoothing the skin on his back underneath his shirt.  “We’ll think about it later.”

Harry only halfway opens his mouth in order to protest, and he figures Louis feels it against his chest, because he’s making those lulling _shhh_ noises again, this time burying them into Harry’s strands and bringing their bodies closer.

“Later.”

The creases around Harry’s closed eyes begin to fade little by little, Harry allowing the boy, and his warmth, and his skin, and his presence to perfectly soothe him in a way it hasn’t in so long.

 

 


	6. Six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is just crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter: teenage fantasy - jorja smith ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a-N0skjGKyc))
> 
> ~

 

 

Harry’s jerked awake—not by actual _hands_ or anything (which is probably what he would’ve preferred) but from the abrupt sensation of cold water being sprayed onto his face.

He’s already wincing and blinking his eyes awake as he hears Louis moaning “what the fuck” next to him, and he shields his face with both of his forearms, sitting up and cursing the sun for being so bright as it comes through the blinds.

“Get _up_ ,” comes Niall’s voice, which doesn’t surprise Harry as he rubs his fingers down the bridge of his nose.  Niall shoots them one last spray (and Harry’s certain he’s using the mist spray he’d seen next to the plants on the porch), shivering the both of them yet again as Louis reaches for the bottle (and misses, because he’s just woken up and Niall is pretty quick).

“Zayn _said_ asscrack of dawn, remember?  It’s almost afternoon,” Niall says, his voice cold and mean as Harry’s finally able to bring his gaze up to him, the bottom halves of his and Louis’ bodies still tangled underneath the mangled sheets, ankle crossed over ankle.

“So did he send you here to kick us out like some butler?” Louis asks, the words groaned into his lap as he remains doubled over and fresh from sleep.

Harry buries his head in Louis’ shoulder, slumped as well and far from ready to get up, face their reality, and figure things out.  Ugh.

“No, I took the liberty of doing it myself,” Niall says, one foot still braced on the frame of the bed and his eyes staring them down.

“Well, it’s way past dawn now, and it’s obvious you’re the only one who even wants us out anymore, so…” Harry begins, pursing his lips at Niall and halfheartedly shrugging one shoulder.

“Yeah, where _is_ Zayn by the way?” Louis asks, finally sitting upright as he stretches out his sleeves, pulling them past his wrists ( _so_ cute).  “Thought he’d be the first face we see.”

“You might have to take a number.  He’s too busy flirting with your friend,” Niall spits, and then there’s a moment, where he’s seeming to get lost in thought, or lost in emotion, or _whatever_ , because his eyes fog out, and Louis’ just sleepily scratching at his head some more, and Harry feels more connected to Niall than he ever has in this moment because.  He knows exactly what the man is feeling.  He’s been there before.

“Look…Niall,” Harry begins, voice softening as he scoots up on the bed just a little, sympathy brewing behind his eyes.  “Liam, he’s…there’s nothing to worry about with him—“

He’s met with another cold spray in the face, bringing him to shut his eyes and wince with his shoulders up to his ears, and all that can be heard from Niall is the boy once again yelling at them.  “Take your friend and fucking _leave_!”

“ _Jeez louise_ ,” Louis mumbles into his hands, still rubbing his tired eyes as Niall stalks out of the room and slams the door behind himself.  “Who spit in his coffee?”

Harry’s bringing some of the sheets up to his face to pat at his damp cheeks, his words muffled against the fabric.  “It’s fucking Zayn.  Do you not see how he’s been towards Liam?”

All Louis does is shrug, moving one of his hands under his shirt so he can scratch at his stomach.  “At least it got Zayn’s mind off of making us leave so quickly.”

Harry makes a point of shoving the boy with his elbow, bringing Louis to look at him with his eyebrows pulled together, his round blue eyes caught off-guard as though he doesn’t understand Harry’s reaction.

“He’s being a dick,” Harry says, his words meaningful.

“Yeah.  To _Niall_ ,” the boy drawls, rubbing his hand over his face exhaustedly as he shuffles in order to let himself off of the side of the bed.  “Who cares?”

Louis’ pretty far away in just a few seconds, flicking on the bathroom light and bringing Harry to be left with the sound of him turning on the faucet, probably to brush his teeth.

“Well, I kinda know what it’s like to feel what he’s feeling, so,” Harry says, settling back against the headboard and bringing the sheets to bunch up to his chest.  All he gets in response is a “hmm?” from where Louis has a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, as a result of the boy not hearing him.

Harry’s eyes remain unfocused and placed toward the foot of the bed, where their discarded clothes still reside.  He guesses there’s no point in getting worked up about Niall and Zayn’s situation, since he hardly even knows them and shouldn’t care anyway. 

In fact, since they have a potential murderer on their hands and a gold ring still in their possession, Harry comes to the conclusion that it _definitely_ shouldn’t be one of his worries right now.

So he sucks it up and eventually finds himself out of bed, somewhat preparing for a day of apprehension with Louis as they shower together, change clothes together, and pack up their shit together (just in case Zayn, in fact, still wants them out).

At some point he seriously wonders if they’re ever going to get a chance to return Mrs. Margaret’s clothes back to her.

They’re pretty much floating around the apartment after that, taking gentle footsteps and letting one another lead the way as they subtly try to steer clear of Zayn.  All of this is only making it clearer to Harry, the fact that they’re both terrified of the uncertainty of whatever may go on outside of this apartment.  They hadn’t even come to a proper agreement about what to do next last night, so that’s most certainly leaving them blind and aimless right about now.

Harry’s also chosen to keep his phone underneath the pillow in the bedroom, just so that he won’t be tempted to answer any more calls, or freak himself out over when the next text is coming.

The two of them even manage a quick breakfast in the kitchen, helping themselves to what seems to be the only kind of food Zayn has—ridiculously sugary children’s cereal.

They don’t even talk about _it_ as they sit across from each other at the dining table, socked toes wriggling at each other underneath the surface as Louis laughs about the strange centerpiece on the table, which is some kind of ceramic toad that dispenses candy that’s who-knows-how-old.

Harry likes it like this.

Among all the ongoing chaos, Harry somehow finds happiness in this.  Getting along with Louis, being with Louis, touching Louis, being accepting of the fact that they’re back together again, and it seems to be off to a great start—minus all the life threatening stuff.

He just really loves Louis, and more than anything, at the end of this, he just wants to be able to still have the man by his side.  He honestly doesn’t care how.

When they’re done with scooping chocolate cereal pebbles into their mouths and are wandering around the apartment, flipping through the pretentious vinyl records Zayn of _course_ has in the den, Harry simply can’t steer clear of Zayn anymore when he overhears him laughing from the outside porch.

The reason the laugh actually obtains some of his attention is because it’s clearly that of a chuckle that has been repurposed and modified and pampered enough to be a flirty one, and surprise surprise—when Harry’s peaking in through the frame entrance that leads to the porch, Zayn is out there with Liam.

No wonder he and Louis had been allowed to slip under the radar for so long.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis whispers, giving Harry’s shirt one pointless tug in order to get him to stop actively seeking Zayn.

Harry ignores him, stepping out onto the porch, his hands gently joined behind his back as he takes in the setting, as well as the sun that is surely brighter than it was this morning.

Liam is doing what Harry would expect the boy to be doing, which is making use of the fact that Zayn has dumbbells on his porch for whatever reason.

He’s laid on his back against the wood, pushing two dumbbells up from his chest with tons of willpower and whatnot, and Zayn is sat right next to him with crossed legs, watching the man (well actually, watching the biceps of the man’s arms) as his eyes move up and down wondrously.  Zayn’s still in what he’d worn to bed probably, his shirt grease-stained and his plaid pajama pants wrinkled and huge.

“Oh, Harry,” Liam says delightedly, only glancing at Harry briefly as he continues to pump the weights.  “Morning!”

“Morning,” Harry says with less enthusiasm, rocking on his heels as Louis steps in next to him, clearly defeated and annoyed with Harry’s actions.

“He’s just showing me how to do a proper morning workout,” Zayn explains, eyes still trained on Liam as the boy finally pauses pumping the weights, now keeping them to his chest.  “Your roommate is so helpful.”

Well he is, but not for the reason’s Zayn is praising him for.

“See, you can feel it in your muscles when you’ve had enough,” Liam says, panting just a bit as sweat builds at his forehead.

“Right here?” Zayn asks, quite boldly curling his fingers around Liam’s closest bicep, watching the man’s reaction carefully, and appearing thoroughly pleased when he nods.

“Zayn, I think Niall’s looking for you,” is what Harry’s mouth decides to say in this moment.

Zayn’s eyes dart up toward Harry, and it’s as though he suddenly remembers that there’s a world outside of Liam, and his defined biceps, and his sweaty chest.  He shifts his weight in order to push himself up to his feet, offering Liam a polite nod before his retreat.  “I’ll be right back to finish this.”

And then he’s off, leaving through the exit of the porch and back into the apartment in order to find a man who isn’t even really looking for him.  Niall will probably have quite a few things to say to him nonetheless.

“You know, I can’t believe I never thought about getting my own dumbbells—“

“What are you doing?” Harry asks tiredly, stepping towards the boy as his feet come to a slow stop.

Liam seems just a bit thrown as he shifts in order to sit up, setting the weights down gently on either side of himself and blinking up at Harry.  He quirks an eyebrow in question, Harry resisting a sigh at how oblivious the boy is.

“You know Zayn thinks you’re cute, right?”

Liam’s mouth opens and closes for a moment whilst his eyes grow just a tad bigger, and his head eventually shakes side to side, as though he’s just _now_ registering the pure googly-ness of Zayn’s eyes.

“I…I didn’t know,” he says, followed by a nervous laugh as he gets up to his feet, swiping his water bottle up from the ground.

“He was touching your biceps.  Liam, c’mon.”

Liam shrugs defensively as he uses his wrist to wipe away the sweat that’s running down the side of his face.  “I thought he was just really enthusiastic about exercising.”

“Trust me,” Harry says, blinking slowly.  “You’re the only one who’s _that_ enthusiastic about exercising.”

“Noted,” Liam replies, bringing the nose of his water bottle up to his lips.

There’s a solemn silence that definitely can’t be regarded as a peaceful one, but it happens, Louis stepping in front of Harry with his hands comfy and buried in the deep pockets of his hoodie, gently letting himself fall back and rest against Harry’s front.

“So…what are we doing here again?” Liam asks, tilting his head to the side once he twists the cap on his water bottle closed.

“I thought they told you,” Louis says with a huff, his messy strands moving against Harry’s chin.

“Yeah, but I still don’t get it,” Liam replies, taking a few steps back in order to sit himself against the folding table littered with Polaroid photos.  “You can’t stay here forever, can you?”

Louis shrugs one of his shoulders, Harry wrapping an arm across his chest and leaning down in order to get his puckered lips rested upon the boy’s shoulder.  “I have no problem with that.”  He nudges Harry’s face with his cheek.  “What about you, love?”

“If Zayn provides us with more breakfast options, I’ll consider,” he mumbles, feeling calmed by the gentle way Louis is swaying them.

Louis giggles lightly in response, one of Harry’s dimples deepening as he holds onto him.

“Guess I’m glad I got out of our place when I did, nonetheless,” Liam says, before bringing the water bottle to his lips in order to take some more heavy gulps.

This brings Harry’s train of thought right back to where it’d been yesterday when Liam was outside of the front door, and he finds himself chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before bringing his question into the quiet, hot air.

“Why _did_ you wanna track me on an app, anyway?”

Liam sits up just a bit at the question, as though he has an answer to this prepared.  “Oh, because…” he begins, his confidence already waning a bit as he shifts, his gaze moving downward.  “You were just kinda out of it, really…”

Harry keeps his head rested against Louis’ and his arms caressing the boy to himself, not knowing exactly how to take that and just hoping Liam is going to elaborate.

“Like, you were scaring me a lot because of how you…” Liam gestures uselessly with his hands, his eyes still not meeting Harry and his shoes fidgeting with each other.  “You didn’t seem to enjoy anything.  And you would seem more and more, I guess… _empty_ every day, and I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t do anything, like drastic.  That’s kinda why I always questioned when you came home late or went out without telling me.”

Harry’s quieted for a moment, only reacting with some sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach that he can’t quite put his finger on.  He hates that he knows exactly what Liam’s talking about, and he hates that he made it so noticeable on the outside.  He really just hates people worrying about him.

But somehow, he finds himself feeling touched, which is probably where the feeling in his stomach came from.  Fuck.

He feels Louis bring one of his hands up in order to caress where Harry’s hand is still grasping his hoodie, simply stroking his thumb along the knuckles of the boy’s fingers for comfort.

“Oh,” Harry says finally, his throat feeling dry.  “Well.”

And there’s more silence, although it feels less thick now as Liam is able to look Harry in the face, and Harry and Louis are still attached at the hand, and the morning continues to provide them with a whispery breeze, making everything out to be a lot more serene than it’s supposed to be.

The silence is abruptly ended when there’s a sound of someone clapping loudly from the frame of the porch, and when they all turn their heads toward the interruption, Harry isn’t surprised to find Zayn, stepping in with Niall in tow, of course making his entrance dramatic and acknowledged.

“Well, I guess it’s time for you guys to go,” Zayn announces, now rubbing his palms together as he steps in front of Harry and Louis, Niall resting his elbow against the boy’s shoulder and probably rejoicing in all of this.

Louis makes a show of childishly stomping his foot as he huffs some more.  “Zayn, we really can’t—“

“ _Nope_ ,” Zayn says, shushing his way through anything else the boy utters..  “I told you guys that you’d have to be out today.  I’m not taking any chances.”

“What are we supposed to _do_?” Louis asks, finally standing up straight, pulling himself away from Harry.

“Change your identities, travel to another town a thousand miles away—I literally gave you guys a _car_ for this exact reason!”

Louis opens his mouth to vehemently protest again, but Harry cuts him off with a palm over the boy’s lips, knowing there’s no use.  “Just leave it, Louis,” he says calmly, bringing his other hand to the boy’s shoulder.  “Liam.  Come on, I guess.”

“Oh, _Liam_ can stay if he wants,” Zayn speaks up quickly, turning towards the man in half a second and unknowingly causing Niall’s elbow to slip off of his shoulder.

It’s clear Niall isn’t so keen on biting his tongue this time around as he immediately opens his mouth.  “But—“

“In the _guest room_ , of course,” Zayn quickly says over him, turning back towards the man with a desperate hand to his shoulder, and sufficiently looking like a jock that’s torn between two cheerleaders, or something.

“You’re kidding,” Harry blurts, his brows furrowed as he resists choking the man for probably the hundredth time since their arrival here.

“That—that’s not _fair_!” Louis yells.

“ _He’s_ not a fucking fugitive!” Zayn shouts right back, defending himself as he once again faces Louis and Harry.  “And he doesn’t have any chips on him—I checked.”

“’Course you did,” Harry mumbles.

Liam’s slowly getting up from the table in Harry’s peripheral, putting his hands up in a graceful manner.  “Hey guys, no need to argue—“

“You wanna drag him into your mess and get him killed too?” Zayn asks.  “You and L are basically walking red flags, and you’re just about _done_ for.  He still has a chance, and he’s staying.”

A noticeable pinch in the side from Niall brings him to speedily add on to his sentence “if he wants”.

Zayn puts his hands up in the air in a surrendering fashion, beginning his slow retreat back to where he came from.  “Now, I’m done explaining myself to you two,” he continues.  “You guys figure out what you’re gonna do to get your shit together, and I’ll be inside.” 

He backs out of the porch after much languid movement, stepping inside the apartment without another word.

They’re left with the thick tension that Zayn had so annoyingly brought in and left behind, and Liam’s nervously rubbing his palm over the back of his neck, Niall is unabashedly staring him down with a relentless glare, and Louis is blinking down at the ground with astronomically contained frustration.

“If it helps you make a decision, I really hate that you’re here,” Niall tells Liam easily, before moving in order to follow in Zayn’s footsteps and enter back into the apartment.

 

~*~

 

They’ve been driving.

Harry doesn’t know how far or where to, but it has been quite a while, and he hasn’t even mustered the strength to inquire on where Louis’ going.  Or if the man even knows where he’s going.

Harry has his feet rested up on the dash, and his phone remains in his lap, where he figured he was just going to have to put it in order to be ready.  He’s actually quite surprised at the fact that there _haven’t_ been any calls or texts since the one he’d gotten yesterday morning, but this doesn’t stop his eyes from being fiercely focused on the blank screen of the phone.  He’s just waiting for something, anything in order to let them know just how dire their situation is right now.  Because they’re flying blind.

Of course Liam had stayed behind.  Until they’re “in the clear”, apparently.

Honestly, who _wouldn’t_ stay where they know they’d be safe with a guy who’s literally going to jump in front of a bullet for him just because he thinks he’s hot?  Harry doesn’t blame him, although he feels for just how painfully awkward he’s going to be feeling for a while, what with all the death glares he’s going to be receiving from Niall, along with the fact that Harry has informed him about Zayn’s crush on him.  He’d made a point to get Harry to explicitly promise that he’ll answer the phone _every_ time Liam calls, which only proves to Harry that Zayn had succeeded in getting him beyond scared of this whole situation.

Zayn had given them cash for things like food and gas though, so maybe that’s somewhat good.  It definitely makes up for practically sending two so-called friends out on the streets to meet their death.

Louis has sunglasses back over his eyes as he coasts down the lonely highway, which Harry hates.  It makes Louis look like some closed-off jerk, and it sort of makes him one too.  Harry knows he’s only wearing them because of how pissed off he is at everything right about now.  Still, he has no reason to project that emotion onto Harry, his boyfriend, the person he supposedly loves, especially when they’re supposed to have each other right now more than ever.

He knows they’re just sunglasses, but still.  Harry has dealt with this boy for a while and he knows the signs of when things are about to go sour.

Harry manages to finally speak over the light sound of the radio playing some podcast, figuring knowing is better than staying clueless.

“Where are you going?” he asks gently, his head rested back against the seat as he remains with his feet up.

“Dunno,” Louis says, of course.  “The middle of nowhere, I guess.  I just want a place to rest my mind and not feel watched, perhaps.”

As much as Harry wants to say something, he doesn’t, instead just rolling his gaze back down to his phone as the views of scenery flash by the car windows.

He just truly doesn’t know how to get Louis to see his side of things.  How to make the boy understand why they should just turn themselves in and accept whatever comes after that.  It isn’t surprising, however, the fact that Louis is unable to look at things from Harry’s perspective.  That’s kind of the way it’s always been.

Harry’s not even sure if one hour passes or two by the time Louis’ finally pulling off to the side and slowing down.  All he knows is that time has passed, and he’s been hypnotized by the seemingly never ending road ahead of them, as well as under the spell of the phone in his lap that remains silent and ominous.

He becomes a little cautious of the fact that Louis is driving over some mudded ground that he’s not sure if the tires will be able to endure, and he looks out the window, wondering if this is one of Louis’ more silent breakdowns and he’s going to drive them off of the hill that he sees coming forth.

Louis _doesn’t_ end up driving them off of the hill (although they would’ve survived it, since now they’re up closer and it doesn’t seem too high), but instead stops just short of it, parked by it and allowing them both to possess a perfect view of the sunny blue sky, beaming down upon them and reminding them that summer isn’t even halfway through.

Once Louis puts the car in park and just sits back in his seat, he lets a heavy sigh fall from between his lips as he rests his forehead in his palm, Harry shielding his own eyes from the sun with his forearm.

Harry grants them some moments of quietness, with hopes that Louis’ now taking the time to weigh out their options.  Surely, if he thinks enough he’ll come to the inevitable conclusion that Harry’s right, and that he’s right about everything, and that perhaps he should stop doubting him and letting him down all the time.

So Harry waits for it.  He waits for that definite moment where the light bulb above Louis’ head clicks on, and he’ll finally turn to Harry, kiss him on the mouth, and tell him they’re going home.  Wherever that is.

But something else comes first.

His phone.

It vibrates where it remains in his lap, causing Harry’s eyes to immediately fly down towards it and Louis to lift his head up.  It only vibrates twice, indicating that it’s a text message, and Harry’s not sure if that’s supposed to relieve him or not.

Harry takes his time in order to take his phone into his hand and unlock it, fully aware of the gaze that Louis is keeping on his every move.

He still keeps himself reclined and comfortable, however, not wanting whatever this is to sway his energy as he brings his phone up to his face.

_446 Hop Rd.  You have until midnight to meet us at this exact address.  Come with the bag._

Harry wishes he could say this causes his heart to stop in his chest, but it doesn’t.  He just experiences an _of course_ type feeling, because he knew this was coming.  If they didn’t get the ring out of their hands and their bodies in a position to take these guys down efficiently, of _course_ this was coming.

“They want it at midnight.”  He lets his phone fall back into his lap as he speaks with no emotion.  “We’re dead.”

Louis lets his head rest back against his chair as well, letting out another one of his defeated breaths.  “Yep.”

This is what causes Harry to wake up a little bit, his gaze turning towards Louis as he watches the man, in all his annoying sunglasses and award-winning profile, offer nothing other than a useless “yep”.

He’s not exactly good at keeping the accusatory tone out of his voice.  “What do you mean _yep_?”

Louis turns his head towards Harry, already looking annoyed as he runs a hand through his faded red hair.  “Yep, as in I agree with you that we are.”

“Well then,” Harry says, facing back forward as he begins to toy with his thumbs.

“What?” Louis asks, his voice a mixture of vexation and fatigue.

“It would actually sort of help if you at least _attempted_ to lighten everything up and offer empty encouragement,” he replies, keeping his eyes forward at the soft clouds and trying not to clench anywhere.  “So that I can at least feel somewhat positive about this, since this is where _you_ led us.”

“You’re the one who literally wants to turn us in so we can spend the rest of our lives being ridiculed,” Louis says, his voice level raising just a smidge.  “Please don’t tell me about being positive.”

Harry says nothing, just blowing air out through his nose as he unknowingly pinches one of his own fingers.

“And please don’t pin this on me, because we all know that’s a lie,” Louis adds.

“Louis, when do you ever take the blame for anything?” Harry asks emphatically, turning his head toward the window as he rests his cheek against the cushion.

“For _what_?”

“I _told_ you we should’ve just turned ourselves in, I _told_ you you needed to stop speeding from the cops, and I—“  He blinks just a bit, holding back a choke and beginning to feel a heavy weight coming upon him.  “I told you to leave me alone.  I always do—I, fucking…I keep telling you to leave me alone, and you just come right back.”

“Are you being _serious_ right now?” Louis asks, his voice cutting.

“ _Yes,_ ” Harry replies, finally turning his eyes back towards Louis as he lets his feet down from where they’d been propped up for the last hour or two.  “We wouldn’t exactly be here if you’d just stopped trying to rekindle everything every time you got bored.”

“I wasn’t bored you fucking _asshole!”_ Louis yells, sitting up much straighter and leaned toward Harry, Harry staring right back into his own reflection in Louis’ sunglasses.  “I missed you!”

“Crazy how you find the time to miss me in between fucking another guy every other night,” Harry replies, sitting back against his seat and crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, already prepared to end wherever this argument is going.

Louis empties out another sigh as he sits himself back against the cushion as well.  “Of course.  Here we go again.”

“Yes, here we fucking go again.  Can you ever just listen to me and actually consider my emotions for once?” Harry asks, his tone raising a pitch with emotion.  “After all this time, you still haven’t learned to do that.”

“When don’t I listen to you—“

“How about yesterday, when I told you that we needed to return the ring instead of continuing to hide out and make everything worse?” Harry asks, his voice stern.  “ _Just_ yesterday!  And look where we are now.”

“Yes, I should’ve listened to your _brilliant_ idea where you wanted us to get arrested and have my name dragged through the mud for the rest of my life,” Louis replies, speaking dramatically.  “That was a _great_ idea!”

“Whatever,” Harry mutters, turning over on his side and ignoring the lump in his throat as he keeps his arms crossed over himself.  “Jail’s the best thing I have going for me anyway, so.”

“And there you go, taking pride in not caring about anything, as usual,” Louis comments, Harry tightening his jaw in response to the patronizing tone of his voice.  “Of course _you_ wouldn’t care if we go to jail Mr. Dead Inside, of course _you_ wouldn’t care if I could never show my face in front of a pap again—you shrug everything off of your shoulder and just hope for the fucking _worst_!”

“Yeah, I _never_ cared about _anything_ ,” Harry spits, still facing the other way and struggling to contain his budding fire.  “All those months we dated, I guess I was just a robot, crying over you every night.  I guess we’re just forgetting about all of that, right?”

“Harry…”

“I literally never loved anyone as much as I loved you, and you’re gonna sit here and act like _me_ not caring about anything is the root of our _problems?”_ Harry asks, not being able to hold it in anymore as he sits up again, eyes turned toward Louis as his reddening glare begins to thicken.  “Because we broke up after you fucking _cheated_ on me!  Remember that?  Or do you just have selective memory?  It didn’t have anything to do with me!  It was because you fucking _cheated_ on me, you piece of _shit!”_

Louis’ running his hands through his hair again as he leans against the window, clearly already defeated even though Harry’s just getting started as he heaves in and out and doesn’t care about stopping his own tears.

Louis’ voice is soft and hardly heard when he speaks, his gaze turned down.  “You’re ticking…”

“Of course I am you idiot!” Harry shouts, practically leaned over the man as his face goes red with how much he’s yelling, and his eyes begin to fill.  “You fucking pushed me here—you’ve _always_ pushed me here, and then you act like _I’m_ the one who’s losing it!  Stop questioning why I don’t trust you and actually think about what the fuck it was that _you_ did to get me to that point!”

It seems this is riling Louis back up as well, the boy _finally_ pushing his glasses up into his hair as his gaze plunges into Harry’s and his nostrils flare up.  “Maybe if you hadn’t been basically breaking up with me _every_ two seconds—“

“That still didn’t give you a pass to do what you fucking did!” Harry screams, voice booming so loudly and desperately that it’s actually becoming more of a high-pitched wheeze as he jabs a finger at Louis’ shoulder.  He’s a few more tears from full on sobbing now, his voice full with it as he can’t contain himself.  “You _knew_ it would hurt me!  Regardless of anything, you knew it would hurt me and you still fucking _did_ it!  I don’t know why I _ever_ let myself forgive you!”

“Well you did, and that’s why we’re here, so you can choose to either get the fuck over it, or keep yelling at me like some psychopath!” Louis shouts, his voice notably loud, although it still doesn’t match Harry’s.

Harry doesn’t waist another second before turning in order to shove the door open, holding his bottom lip between his teeth as he steps out into the harsh sunlight, slamming the car door behind him with record-shattering strength.

He’s a complete mess as he swipes his droopy sleeve across his torrentially wet face, growing further away from the car and stepping upon the dusty, dryly mudded ground with absolutely no idea of where he even plans to go.

He just needs to get away from that man.  He’s _always_ needed to fucking get away from that man who has constantly proven he doesn’t give a shit about him, manipulated him in ways he can’t even fucking process yet, dragged his life into hell all for his own personal gain.

He can barely hear the boy faintly calling his name from behind, obviously not even caring to put enough power into it to even properly be heard, but Harry rotates nonetheless, his nose rosy and sniffing as he drops his hands to his sides and finds Louis leaned forward in the car, probably from cranking the lever in order to get the passenger window down.

There’s a point where they’re both just quiet, and there’s another point where Louis opens his stupid mouth again.

“Technically, we weren’t _together_ —“

Harry’s fingers are almost a blur as they’re snatching up a few of the rocks from the ground, Louis already going “ _Jesus”_ as he works in order to get the window back up, which is unfortunate when the rocks Harry’s powerfully hurling at him end up hitting the window and only causing a faint crack.  He still screams some more of his breathless profanities at the tinted window of the car, not even being able to see the boy, but knowing he’s probably sighing some more as though Harry is ridiculous.

As he turns back on his heel to continue a frivolous journey _away_ from this man, he’s so fucking _infuriated_ that he allowed this to happen again, allowed himself to be fucking _hurt_ again, and as he’s thinking about it, he can’t bring himself to stop sniffling and shedding tears and shaking, because Louis doesn’t care.  He takes everything lightly, wits his way out of being serious, and he doesn’t fucking _care._ That’s the worst part.

He’s sick of convincing himself that Louis is this rare flower in a world of fakeness that “isn’t like the others” when that’s clearly a god damn lie.  He is the same, and Harry just has to accept the fact that he’s an idiot for falling in love him.

The memories of that night are coming back to him as his feet are slowing, and he’s feeling somewhat more content about his distance from the car and that excruciating atmosphere.

If he felt bad enough to feel guilty about it, that means they were fucking _together_.  Why can’t he get that through his hollow head?

His red eyes are only halfway open as the sun attempts to blind them, his entire body beginning to be hit with exactly how it felt that night, discovering what happened, discovering why Louis was suddenly acting so weird, discovering the truth.

It had blindsided Harry with such great magnitude, because he’d instantly went from feeling like the beginning and end of Louis’ world and actually being somewhat _special_ since this highly desired man only had eyes for him, to feeling like just another one of the thousands of garbage men in a sea of much more important, attractive people that outrank him in every way.  He’s always felt like that; all through primary school, the stupid lacrosse teams that he backed out of, uni that he quit after one semester—he’s always fucking _felt_ like he just wasn’t good enough to be worth anything, and he thought maybe Louis had been the one to come along and save him from letting that feeling take over.

He’s not even aware of his own knees sinking into the dirty ground until the straining feeling of pain is beginning to be felt in his calves.  All he has is the back of his palm tightly pressed against his mouth as he tries with everything in him to stop the shuddering of his breaths, and he can absolutely admit he hasn’t felt more worthless than he does right now.  That’s saying a lot.

He brings his legs out from underneath him, settling himself against the ground with his face now buried in his knees as he lets it all out. 

There was a reason he’d dumped that slushy on his head.  There was a reason he’d blocked his number, ignored him for all those months.  There was a reason he fucking hated his guts, and here Harry is, finally starting to come back to his senses, even though it’s too little too fucking late now that he’s most likely going to be attacked with this man by his side.

Jesus, why couldn’t Louis just fucking _leave_ him _alone_?

He doesn’t even know how long he sits there, but he knows it lasts for a while, because the tears are never-ending as they cascade down his face and soil the stolen clothes he’s wearing.

He’s just.  Tired of not meaning anything to anybody, and being second best, and feeling like shit.  He’s fucking _tired_.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not, the fact that Louis doesn’t even step out to check on him during the outrageously lengthy amount of time they spend several yards away from each other, Harry succumbing to all of his emotions and wiping his face relentlessly.  If Louis does approach, Harry’s probably going to throw him off of this hill, but still.  The boy should at least try.

The thought makes Harry attempt to calm his breaths and emotions, now realizing he needs to simmer before he practically injures himself with a headache.  Getting angrier and sadder is only going to make him even worse when he realizes that Louis doesn’t care, so he figures now he should settle himself before things get shittier.

When he’s finally done alternating between burrowing his head in his knees and arms, and is squinting his puffed eyes greatly as he lifts his head up, he isn’t shocked that the sun isn’t as high up in the sky as it once was. 

At least if no one on Earth is here for him, the sunset will always be.  And that’s quite pathetic.

There are little hiccups in his breath coming about every now and then as he strokes at his eyes and begins to feel a strain towards the back of his head, but it’s much less severe now that he’s let it all out.

Eventually, he’s just sitting there, looking at his hands and breathing slowly, bearing no idea of how to get out of this.

He’ll just meet the guys there at midnight.  What the fuck ever.  As stated before, he doesn’t really have anything going for him.  He _is_ Mr. Dead Inside, isn’t he?  Fucking asshole.

Much time passes.  So much that Harry’s almost contemplating on whether or not Louis had up and driven away, and Harry had been too absorbed in his own miserable feelings to notice.  He definitely doesn’t turn around to check though.

When the sound of the boy honking comes about, causing Harry’s shoulders to move just a bit in response to the abruptness of it, he fucking _hates_ that a trickle of relief settles inside him.  He fucking hates himself.

It can only be heard if Harry listens very closely, the sound of the boy working in order to get the window down again, all while Harry remains sat upon the ground with his back to the vehicle.

“Are you done yet?  I kinda wanna eat before whatever happens at midnight.”

His eyes are profusely welling again at just the sound of him, at the pure reality that he isn’t emotionally affected by this in the slightest, because he has so many other things going for him.  So many other people ready to drop down at his feet.

Harry has nothing else.

He thinks for a moment that he might just sit here, allow Louis to leave him, because his own phone, along with the bag, is still in the car anyway.  He can leave Louis to deal with this himself, and simply stay out here and either find a way to survive, or let the natural way of life take him.

But Louis’ the asshole in this relationship.  Not Harry.  He wouldn’t ever get past it, knowing he’d left him alone to deal with that.

Which is why he finds himself moving in order to stand, feeling like an uncooperative, puffing child as he remains red at his eyes and nose and makes a point of not looking at Louis.  He can’t even look at this man anymore after all he’s done to him.

So soon he’s opening the back door, completely avoiding the passenger seat as he slides in, immediately lying sideways, facing towards the rear of the car and burying his face in his hands some more as he feels the emotions coming back to him.

He presses himself into the cushion as much as he can, wanting to hide from the world as the sniffles return to him, all of it being fueled by the constant reminder that Louis doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, _he hurts me and he doesn’t care_.

All is silent in the car besides Harry’s whispered sobbing, the hum of the engine as Louis is driving again, and the sound of the wind that hits the car as they travel.

It isn’t long before the car is pulling into some parking lot, Harry not seeing it and only being able to feel the way the vehicle slows down, his vision consumed with darkness.

“Come on,” Louis says gently, after the car’s been turned off and they’d both remained mute for a few seconds. 

All Harry does is faintly shake his head.

He can hear Louis turning around in the passenger seat, the boy’s words now coming toward him straight-on as opposed to going in another direction when he’d been sitting forward.  “You’re not coming?”

His head shakes again.

“Well…do you want anything?” Louis tries, his voice remaining gentle and almost helpless.

Harry says absolutely nothing and instead swallows the thickness building in his throat.

The boy’s shifting in his seat again as he emits a long breath, most likely facing back forward.  “Harry…”  His voice sort of has a melody to it, but it’s also struggling at the same time, as though he’s doing his best to appease the boy.

There’s more silence between them, save for a sniffle from Harry.

Then Louis speaks up again, his voice somehow even softer this time, Harry straining to hear him.

“I said sorry.  I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

And then there’s the sound of the door opening, followed by the crunch of the gravel outside as the boy steps out.

After the door is shut behind him, Harry just remains where he is, trying to pinpoint what it is that he wants Louis to do as well.

It doesn’t take him long to figure it out though, because it isn’t rocket science.  He just wants the man to _care_.  He wants the man to prove the things he constantly claims, like _I love you, you’re the most important thing to me, you’re everything_ —he just wants to see those stupid empty phrases in action.  Is that too much to ask?

He wants the boy to stop smirking and making a joke out of everything when Harry attempts to get serious with him.  It’s what he’s always done.  Hell, even when they’d first gotten together and Harry had possessed worries about whether or not his private life would be imposed upon, Louis had just laughed and called him silly and claimed nothing’s private anyway.  He just covers everything with humor, and creating diversions, and saying sweet things he knows will make Harry melt.  Harry wants him to just be completely genuine and unmotivated for once, and acknowledge how badly he damaged Harry without attempting to beat around it.

It slowly becomes clear that Louis’ probably eating inside of wherever they’re at, which gives Harry much time to himself as he brings his face out of the cave of his hands eventually.  He settles on resting the side of his head against his elbows and continuing to face the cushion of the seat, still containing no desire to see Louis’ face.

When Louis’ coming back in, Harry remains just as quiet, his eyes easily adjusted to the dark around them as it seems the sun is almost done going down.  Which is only bringing them closer to midnight.  And they haven’t even discussed what the fuck they’re going to do yet.

And then Louis is just driving.  Aimlessly, it seems, which apparently must be his favorite thing to do.  The night is growing on them as the boy begins to move around dimly lit streets and mess with the dials on the radio in order to find some station that won’t mention any pop culture.

Harry hates that it’s sort of tranquil, watching the different lights of whatever city they’re entering roam over the interior surfaces, casting shadows upon his own face and alleviating him in some strange way.

And then Louis’ suddenly parking again, and Harry can hear the murmurs of people outside of the car, and even though he has absolutely no idea of what’s happening, he continues to keep his mouth stubbornly sealed.

“I’m going for drinks,” Louis says, moving the gear shift in order to park once again.  “Well…hopefully, if they let me into this place without I.D.  Still not coming?”

Harry gives him nothing in response.

“Suit yourself,” Louis mumbles, before the door is opening again, and the boy makes a point to click the button and lock the car before getting out.

Now.  Now of all times he wants to get a fucking drink and wind down when literally everything is at stake.  And he really expects Harry to be on board with that.

Harry finds himself sitting up in the backseat after some time, his curiosity getting the best of him as to what exactly the settings around him are looking like.  Dark blue lights are cast upon his face as he’s looking forth and only squinting slightly, and the bar they’re parked in front of looks quite murky and desolate, from what little Harry can see through the viewing windows.  Not many people are in there, probably because the night isn’t very late yet, or because wherever the fuck they are isn’t even really a party hub, but still, he starts to feel a little more normal.  With the few people striding by on the sidewalks, getting into their cars in order to leave, getting _out_ of their cars in order to enter, he feels more normal and less isolated.

And before he can even think about it, plan it out, he’s unlocking the door to his right and pushing it open, stepping out onto the dark concrete of the parking lot and closing the door behind himself.

He’s mostly unsure of everything as he’s walking forth, sliding his hands into the pockets of Zayn’s sweatpants that he’d stolen before leaving, and becoming just a bit enchanted by the low, cheap multicolored lights inside of the bar ahead of him.

He comes to find that this place _is_ just shady and desolate enough to not even have any security as to who comes in and out, which is why he’s soon sliding in through the door he pulls open, taking a deep breath and not knowing exactly what he’s supposed to do next.

As before observed, the place is littered with some people, men and women alike as they laugh at the bar, two-step near the speakers while being tipsy, or just stand off to the side undecidedly like Harry is doing, but overall, it’s quite deserted.

Harry turns his eyes toward the actual bar area as he takes two steps forward, finding Louis sat upon the stool by the counter as he brings his mouth down in order to take a sip at whatever he’s drinking through a straw.  Harry just stares at him from where he is, in all his deceiving innocence as he even swings his chair around a bit, his sunglasses mysteriously over his eyes again and foot tapping against the bar underneath the stool.

Harry’s eyes scan the area some more, his fingers lightly scratching at his bandana before working through his hair as he seems to be revisiting what it feels like again to be a normal, participating member of the world.  He wishes he could say he hasn’t just been in a place like this, designed for laying back and being carefree, unless he’s had to be there, or he was dragged there, and it really just further proves his own point that he sucks.

When his eyes catch sight of someone—some guy, specifically, shamelessly eyeing him as he remains almost on the extreme other side of the bar, leaned against another one of the counters and swishing around the contents of a glass in his hand, Harry’s breath is shortened just a bit, something flashing over his entire body for half of a second.

He ponders the flash for a moment as he chews on a corner of his bottom lip, bringing his eyes back over the entirety of his surroundings as they make their way back to Louis, the boy now resting his cheek in his fist and appearing beyond despondent.

It doesn’t take long after Harry’s simply staring at him for the boy to finally take notice, first peering out of the corner of his eye, then properly looking at Harry, his brows low and furrowed as though he’s not exactly sure what he’s seeing right now.

Harry’s stance hardens once they’re staring at each other, bitterness seeping back into him within seconds as his scowl struggles to stay hidden and his teeth begin to move against each other behind his closed mouth.

As opposed to Harry, Louis’ face begins to look increasingly innocent the more time passes as they stare at each other with distance and moving bodies in between them, probably because he thinks Harry’s finally refreshed and is going to come over and reason with him.

So Harry does the exact opposite.

His feet are moving in the other direction, his hands are placed against several different shoulders as he offers his “excuse me”’s, and his mind is dead-set on approaching the bloke who hasn’t exactly been subtle about checking him out since he’d walked in.

The guy takes notice of his approach rather quickly, his eyes gleaming with interest once Harry’s finally slowing his steps upon entering his bubble.  The guy seems just a little older—probably in his late twenties or early thirties, but still moderately handsome nonetheless, with his dark hair and stubble decorated across his firm jaw.  He continues to swish the drink around in front of himself, Harry ignoring the way his own stomach begins to shake in reaction to the fact that he doesn’t really know what the fuck his plan is right now.  He doesn’t do this kind of thing.

“Looks like you’ve finally found me,” dude says, his voice just a bit lower than Harry would’ve expected.

And Harry’s smoothly stepping into his space, eyes centering on the man who’s a smidge taller than him as he brings a hand up to wrap around his glass as well, only a faint shiver running up his arm in response to their fingers grazing.  “Looks like I have.”  He brings his lips down to wrap around the straw sticking out of the man’s glass, showing one of his dimples as the guy practically melts into his gaze.

Whatever he was drinking is both outrageously citrusy and goes down quite roughly, so Harry has to fight not to make a face and ruin the whole sexy thing he’s got going on right now that seems to be actually _working_ as the man snakes an arm around his waist.

“You can’t possibly tell me you came here alone,” the guy purrs, leaning forth to get his words into Harry’s ear as Harry now holds the glass himself.  “I feel like I’m gonna get in trouble with someone soon.”

Harry finishes up another hefty sip from the beverage before leaning back, catching his nose against the man’s and attempting a lighthearted tone through a mere whisper.  “Trust me.  There’s nothing to worry about.”

He takes the liberty of reaching into the glass for the tiny cherry that’s now resting at the bottom of it, bringing it up to his lips and taking the whole sphere of it into his mouth with his teeth.  The guy in front of him is fairly bold in response, leaning forth in order to tug the cherry stem from Harry’s mouth with his own teeth, Harry’s breath stilling as the man successfully gets it to rip apart.

Harry manages half of a low chuckle as the guy keeps it hanging out of the corner of his mouth like a toothpick, gently taking the glass out of his hand and moving in order to set it behind himself on the counter.  During the short time that he does that, Harry takes this moment to look over his own shoulder _very_ slightly, just to see if there’s anyone in his peripheral watching, or anything.  Anyone sitting at the front of the bar, more specifically.

He doesn’t get much time to do that before the guy’s attention is on him again and he’s bringing a finger to Harry’s chin in order to get their gazes attached, the arm that he has around Harry’s waist growing more snug as the bottom halves of their bodies press together.

Even though Harry can’t see the boy looking, he can somehow _feel_ him, simply sensing the eyes cast upon him as the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand.  So he takes it to the next level, knowing that he’s either all in or all out.

All he has in the back of his mind is how Louis hurts him, and continues to hurt him, and how he deserves his fun too.  Even if it is in the form of bitterly hooking up with some stranger from a dingy bar.  He didn’t experience anyone else before Louis, and he didn’t experience anyone after him either.  Maybe he needs this.

“So where are we gonna move this party to?” the guy asks, voice low and slick as he thumbs at Harry’s bottom lip.

“Wherever you want,” Harry replies, crossing his wrists behind the man’s neck.  “I just want a sense of purpose for tonight.”

The guy pauses briefly where he’d just been starting to press his lips underneath the side of Harry’s jaw, his breath stuttering a little as he chuckles.  “A bit dark, but okay,” he says, before continuing forth and laying a full, wet peck against Harry’s jaw.  “Kinda hot, actually…”

Harry’s slowly allowing himself to fall into it, close his eyes to the feeling of the guy working his way up from Harry’s jaw and neck area, coming towards his cheek as one of his hands continue to grasp and pull at the material on his waist.

And then there are two taps at his shoulder.

Harry blinks his eyes open, turning his head to the right, but still being trapped within the guy’s cozy arm as they remain warm against each other.

There Louis is, leaned with an elbow against the counter, sunglasses now turned into a headband as they’re pushed into his tousled hair, and eyes utterly cold and unimpressed.

“What?” Harry asks, his arms still rested around the guy’s shoulders and neck.

“Harry, you don’t wanna do that.”

The guy’s hand on his waist begins to slip, but Harry stays where he is nonetheless.  “Woah…is there something wrong—“

“No,” Harry says, caressing the man’s jaw with one hand and bringing their gazes back together.  “He doesn’t control me.”

“No—I’m…” Louis begins, obviously struggling to voice himself as Harry huffs impatiently and wishes he’d just _go_ already.  “I’m not trying to _control_ you, Harry.”  He actually reaches for the boy’s shoulder this time, using legitimate _force_ to whip him around, Harry’s eyes meeting his and finding that…he’s growing pretty pissed…pretty quickly.  “I’m saying that _you_ , Harry, _genuinely_ don’t want to do this.  This isn’t what you want, and you know it.”

Harry laughs tightly and almost maniacally, sensing the guy behind him becoming tense and attempting to soothe him by curving a hand around the side of the man’s neck, bringing him close to himself.  “It is,” he says nicely, moving backwards in order to press himself into the guy’s crotch and finally rejoicing in the fact that lips are touching the skin near his shoulder again.

Louis just stands there and watches it, Harry actually quite impressed that the guy behind him isn’t as deterred as a normal person would be upon having this happen.  Probably because Louis looks essentially harmless, even as his fist curls where he has it set against the counter and he swallows determinedly.

“Harry—“

“Hey,” the guy speaks up, his husky voice by Harry’s ear.  One of his hands comes up to wrap around Harry’s waist again, fingertips sliding teasingly into a lower area as Louis blinks.  “He said leave him alone, now beat it.”

Louis stands up straighter, his sharp blue eyes, which had been purely focused on Harry’s lidded green ones, now moved upwards and to the left.

Harry completely stills.

“Well I don’t quite care about what he said, obviously,” Louis replies, voice calm and collected.  “Now if you could remove your hand from his nether regions, that would be lovely.”

The guy’s breath is no longer felt against Harry’s neck and is instead replaced with cold absence as he stands up straighter, detaching himself from Harry a bit as Harry’s own eyes widen.

“Don’t suppose you’re gonna make me, huh?”

Well.  This definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

Louis actually bursts into laughter in response to this, unsurprisingly not growing timid even a little bit as the guy steps toward him, probably due to all of the confidence he has stored from being one of the most important men at several red carpets.

“I’m sorry—I’m,” he begins, finishing up his giggles as he puts a hand up.  “I’m definitely not gonna get into some trashy fight with you in a rundown bar if that’s what you want, because that’s really beneath me.”  He takes one step forward, despite the guy already doing the same as he literally looks _down_ upon the boy.  “I’m just going to ask that you keep your filthy hands _off_ of—“

A strong, harsh push from the guy, landing right against Louis’ chest, causes his sentence to be brought to an early end, the collision of it so strong that Louis’ actually falling backwards powerfully, Harry instantly ripping himself out of the guy’s vicinity and rushing towards him before he’s even hit the ground.

“ _Baby_ ,” he breathes, practically plunging toward Louis as the boy is falling back on his ass, one of the nearby chairs that’d he’d grabbed onto going down with him.

He has one hand caressing the boy’s cheek and the other one running through his hair within seconds, and he’s down on his knees next to him as Louis remains solid and physically unscathed.  This doesn’t bring Harry to feel anything other than immense concern for him, however.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, eyes roaming over Louis’ face frantically as the boy keeps his dark, hard gaze still trained up above at the guy that’d pushed him.  Harry presses his forehead into Louis’ shoulder, shaking his head and wanting to sob, probably now feeling just a sprinkle of the drink he’d finished, whatever the fuck that was.  “God, I’m so sorry—“

“Is there a problem here?” another voice comes about, and great.  What now?  What the fuck _now_.  “This guy messing with you?”

Once Harry turns his head back to the scene, it seems that another guy, most likely a friend of the Flirty Guy that’d been close by, is walking up, his fists balled at his sides as the both of them now continue to look down upon Louis like final bosses in a video game.

Harry’s slightly woozy state, or his desperation for keeping Louis safe, or the fact that he’s a complete madman, sort of takes over in this moment as he shuffles back to his feet, yelling in this stranger’s face and entirely too assured of himself.  “Leave him the _fuck_ alone!”

He can hear Louis saying his name from behind, but he isn’t reactive to it, now completely absorbed in his overpowering emotions concerning the fact that someone’s just _laid_ their _hands_ on the boy.

“You _really_ don’t wanna have to get put on the floor so I can get to your buddy,” the friend says, jaw twitching as he’s stepping up to Harry.  It’s not hard to miss the fact that they’ve attracted the attention of quite a few people nearby, the pop music still low and playing moderately far away.

Harry’s suddenly bringing his fists up and out towards himself in a bracing manner, not even understanding what the fuck he’s getting himself into right now as the guy in front of him mirrors his movements.  “Try me,” he snarls.

This guy is most certainly bigger than the first guy Harry’d been canoodling with and such, and Harry would be _glad_ to deal with him too since he’d been so courageous as to lay a finger on Louis, but it’s his friend that’s stepping up right now, determined to escalade this whole thing further, so Harry figures he’ll have to deal with _him_ first. 

Even though he _is_ huge.  And Harry hasn’t been in a fight since kindergarten.  And he also may not know what hand-eye coordination is right now due to his clouded perception of everything.

The guy actually even laughs as his fists go limp a bit, as though it’s amusing that Harry’s even challenging him right now.  “You seriously don’t wanna—“

Harry’s fist colliding with his jaw is what gets him to finally shut up, the guy immediately being sent stumbling back as whatever crowd they’d attracted begins to slowly grow in noise level, and for a moment, Harry can’t fully process the fact that he’d actually done that.  He’d actually done that _successfully_.

It genuinely throws him off for a moment, his lazily blinking eyes looking down at his fists as though he’s never seen hands before, and he figures he can do this.  Yep, he can do this.  He’ll take this first guy out, and next, he’ll take out the guy he was just letting grope him a few minutes ago.

But his hazy mind is a little _too_ slow in processing the fact that he shouldn’t take this long to reflect in the middle of a fight, which is why he’s met with monstrous pain the second the guy’s fist is coming back to collide with his nose dead-on, and he’s actually seeing sparks and random never-before-seen colors in the air as his feet shuffle backwards, his hands dropping to his sides.  The sound of Louis shouting his name is lost in the background of everything, and he feels like putty once firm hands are fully turning him around, shaking him urgently.

“ _Harry_.  Harry—love, _speak_ to me, are you okay?”

Harry nods slowly, the movement of his own head making him dizzy as he can’t even properly focus his eyes on the boy in front of him.  “Yeah, I’m peachy.”  His eyebrows knit together as Louis maintains a grip on either side of his arms, and then suddenly he can’t even stand anymore.  “You might wanna catch me though.”

And he’s falling forth into Louis’ open and awaiting arms, far too heavy for Louis to keep him up as they’re both headed towards the ground.

“Told you,” Harry hears the guy say from above him, the man’s voice just smug enough to get Harry to fruitlessly and sluggishly attempt to get up again, even though he’s stopped by Louis holding his head to his chest, continuing to mumble sugary words into his ear that Harry can’t focus on.

“It’s okay, baby.  You tried,” Louis whispers as he cards his fingers through Harry’s hair and holds him close.  “You tried, and you’re my hero.” 

Then Harry can feel the boy moving, bunching up the bottom of Harry’s shirt and bringing it up to his nose, which is apparently bleeding, now that Harry’s had his attention brought to it.  He moves Harry’s hand in order to indicate to him that he should hold it there, before he’s moving to stand up.  “I’ll be right back, okay?” is the last thing he says before Harry hears his feet walking away, followed by a loud and abrupt “ _Hey!”_

And yeah, Harry’s leaned against the ground with his head tilted backward and his shirt against his nose, and his entire aura is a blur right now, but he’s beyond certain Louis’ just walked up to those douchebags _just_ as they were finally making their way back to where they came from with a trophy on their shoulders.

Harry’s a little bummed at the quick realization that he’s going to have to be up off of his ass _again_ in order to save the boy—

But then Louis’ punching one of them in the neck and roundhouse kicking the other in the jaw within seconds, and they’re on the ground.

Harry’s pretty much jolted awake by this as he sits up straighter, devastated that he hadn’t cleared his muddled mind sooner in order to see that in HD.  It seriously looked like something straight out of a fucking _movie._

He isn’t granted much time to obsess over how impressive and cripplingly hot that was, because then he registers many things at once—all on top of each other.

One, a girl going “…is that Louis _Tomlinson_?”

Two, several people around with their phones out, which Harry hadn’t even _noticed_ until now.

And three, one of the staff members walking up with a phone in hand, shouting at them about how he’s going to call the police.

And that’s _definitely_ not something that they need right now.

It appears Louis is on the exact same page as Harry as he’s rushing towards him, ignoring the shouts of his name as he tugs the boy up by his arm and moves them toward the exit without missing a beat.

Harry’s just about stumbling behind him in order to keep up, somewhat concentrated on the veins in Louis’ arms as he drags him out, even though that should be the last thing on his mind right now.

Once they’re immersed in the darkness of the night, it seems they aren’t done moving, because Louis’ feet are still speedy as he’s pulling Harry as far as he can away from the scene, out of view of anyone who steps out in order to follow them, and into a secluded area by one of the adjacent buildings, hidden from plain view and next to a dumpster and a creaky bench.

Harry’s already getting into his space without thinking, nudging his nose against Louis’ cheekbone as he shuffles him back towards the brick wall.  “Fuck, that was so hot…”

Louis’ twisting his hands around in order to firmly grip Harry’s wrists before shoving him away, Harry catching himself as he steps back on his feet, not hiding the offense and confusion on his face.

“That wasn’t _hot_ , Harry,” Louis says, his voice distressed and his eyes serious, even though Harry can only see the tiny sparkle of them as mostly everything remains dark.  “That was fucking _reckless_!  Why would you _do_ that?”

Harry stands in place as he scratches behind his ear for a moment, his mind slow as he literally _feels_ the disappointed, parent-like way Louis is staring at him right now.  “I…I did a lot of things, so which one are you referring to—“

“ _Everything!”_ Louis shouts, Harry wincing slightly as he brings his shoulders up.  “I mean, what exactly are you trying to prove?” he asks sharply, crossing his arms and taking a step toward Harry.  “You think letting some stranger take you home is somehow gonna be a _good_ way to help yourself cope?”

“You do it all the fucking time,” Harry mutters, his brows pulled together as he grows irate.

“Yeah, that’s me, and you’re _you_ , and this place isn’t fucking _safe_ , you idiot,” Louis spits.  “I mean, I just don’t understand why this even had to happen, when you knew I was there, and you _knew_ I was watching, and you _know_ that’s the last thing I want to see right in front of my _fucking_ face—“

“Well maybe now you know how it feels!” Harry snaps. 

Louis emits a fairly loud huff of air from his lips as his head tilts to the side, Harry already feeling himself beginning to grow passionate and hysteric.

“Now you know how it feels to have the _one_ person you care about wanting someone else!  Except all _I_ did was cry, and then eventually leave you, but _no—“_ Harry begins, shaking his head dramatically as he steps even closer to the boy.  “That’s not what _Louis Tomlinson_ does.  He’s gonna get what he wants, _whenever_ he wants, so he just had to walk up and snatch me back _himself!”_

“Do you even hear yourself?” Louis asks incredulously.  “You’re literally admitting to me that you almost let some creepy guy stick his hands down your pants _just_ so you could get one over on me.”

“Yeah, I am.  What’s the problem with that?” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes through the darkness.

“The problem with that is that it’s stupid, and it’s the reason why your nose is bleeding right now!” Louis explodes.

“My nose is bleeding because I put myself out there to defend your ass!  Your dumb, entitled, egotistical _ass!”_

“Please, I wouldn’t even _be_ in this mess if I was egotistical!” Louis shouts, his words echoing as he gets on the balls of his feet.  “I _wish_ I was egotistical, that way I would’ve moved on with my life after we met at the concert, and probably would’ve been much better off!”

“Why _didn’t_ you?” Harry asks, his feet stumbling forward just in time for his palms to push at the boy’s shoulders.  “Actually, why _don’t_ you?  You still have time to cut me off and go right back to your endless snobby, annoying ass relationships that everyone has to hear about!”

“I will if it means I won’t have to deal with getting into shit like _this_ anymore!”

“Then fucking _do_ it!” Harry nearly screams, getting up into Louis’ face with another push—although his hands are halted right as they meet Louis’ shoulders, Louis procuring a firm hold of his wrists despite Harry’s clumsy, useless efforts to try and shove him again.

“ _Harry_ …” Louis says, his word sounding more like a warning as he jerks Harry’s wrists back, Harry taking notice of how the boy is breathing much more harshly now.  “ _Stop_ this.”

All that can be heard in the area in which they stand are both of their struggling breaths, Louis’ tight grasp on his wrists causing Harry to stumble backwards just a bit, right before he tries his hand at charging forward again in order to at least stomp on the man’s foot with all the power contained in the heel of his shoe.  All he gets in actuality once again is failure, Louis twisting his hands away from Harry’s wrists and instead curving his elbows to link around Harry’s arms, trapping him in and turning them around in order to run Harry right into the brick wall.

Harry’s heaving with both defeat and exhaustion from fruitlessly exerting so much energy.  “Let go of me,” he tries, attempting to move out of the boy’s hold only to be forced back into place, the boy’s eyes close enough for Harry to see the fiery determination contained in each of them.

“Harry, stop,” Louis demands, his tone low and shrill.  “You’re being stubborn, and reckless, and out of control right now.”

“Fuck you,” Harry breathes, shaking his head against the hardness of the wall, successfully putting forth enough force to reach a hand toward the front of Louis’ shirt, bunching up the material at his chest in preparation to shove the boy off of him.  “ _Fuck_ you.”

All Louis does is quickly move his hand toward the front of Harry’s shirt too, the material still damp with blood as he practically cements Harry against the wall and makes him stay there.

And then there’s an instant, where nothing’s really _happening_ as Harry just remains pinned where he is, and they stay within extremely close range of each other's faces, and both of their breathing continues to run heavy.

Then Louis’ jolting Harry forward by his shirt in one movement, latching his lips onto Harry’s and knocking the breath right out of him.

The needful synchronization of their mouths over one another has Harry letting out a desperate moan sooner than he would’ve expected, allowing himself to be ran further into the brick wall and already reaching a hand in order to get it snug upon Louis’ ass.

Louis lifts one of Harry’s legs to get it wrapped around himself, both of their central areas where heat is quickly beginning to accumulate now rubbing against one another, Harry meshing with the wall every time Louis thrusts his hips forward.

“Fuck,” Harry stutters under his breath once their lips are detaching, Louis’ mouth now catching the corner of his and working towards his ear. 

Harry quickly misses his mouth, however, and he finds himself wrapping one arm around the back of Louis’ neck as he dives in for his lips once again, his other hand tightening its grasp on Louis’ ass as their grinding picks up speed. 

It’s almost as though he’s forgotten about everything he’s been mad about all day—everything he was literally _just_ yelling at Louis about before this—once the boy’s spreading his lips apart with his tongue and he’s _feeling_ him right up against himself and Jesus fuck why do they still have clothes on—

“I can’t—I…” Harry stammers breathlessly, still moving ruthlessly against the wall as he tugs at the corners of Louis’ shirt.  “I need this off.”

And Louis lets it happen, biting and licking at Harry’s ear as Harry’s sliding the sleeves off of his shoulders like his life depends on it, not even _remembering_ whether or not the boy is wearing a buttoned down shirt or if he’s actually ripping the boy’s clothes right now.

“Wait, we can’t…” Louis begins, pulling his brows together as he clearly struggles to stop grinding the man into the wall.  “We can’t do this out here.”

Harry quickly grabs for his hand, stepping away from the wall and sealing their lips again as they move forward together.  “Okay,” he breathes, before planting another kiss on him.  “Car, then.”

“But—“ Louis begins, finding himself cut off by Harry’s lips again.  “What if there’s people—“

Harry’s reaching for Louis’ other hand, their foreheads still joined as he steps backwards as fast as he can muster.  “You can’t even pay me to give a flying shit about them.”

And it becomes apparent that that’s all that needs to be said as Louis is quickly sold, actually getting in front of Harry in order to lead the way, both of their hands still attached to each other as Harry manages whatever pecks he can place upon the back of the man’s neck.

Once they’re nearing where their car was originally parked, and finally aren’t submerged in overpowering darkness and are instead met with the shadowy lights that come with being outside of the bar, Harry’s pleased to find there are only one or two people lingering outside of the bar, the only commotion being _inside_ of it, where policemen seem to be speaking with some employees by the front counter, which explains why there’s also a cop car parked on the curb—but fuck _all_ of it, honestly.

Harry’s beyond impatient once they’re finally reaching the car, and can’t help but abruptly hoist himself up onto the trunk of the vehicle and pull Louis into him by his cheeks, desperate for the friction to start back up between them again as he locks his legs around the man’s hips.  Louis’ slipping into it quite easily, nearly falling over Harry as Harry’s reclining on his back upon the vehicle, their lips fiercely attached and the moon watching over them.

“Babe—babe, c’mon,” Louis’ whispering against his lips, pulling back despite Harry’s hands buried into his hair and holding on.  “We gotta get _inside_ the car, _inside_.”

Harry has no choice but to comply, only because he wants to get rid of Louis being hesitant and continuously putting a stop to everything, so he’s letting Louis grab onto his hand in order to sit him back up, his entire body still sweaty with lust.

His movements come to a hard stop though, once he’s partially slid down from the vehicle and is looking past Louis’ head. 

Yeah, he’d gotten his lights knocked out a while ago and had been pretty certain the unicorns he was seeing weren’t real, but he’s convinced for his own sanity that the pattern of _seeing_ things is over now.

Which is why he absolutely, certainly, surely _sees_ it, when there’s not one, not two, but _three_ black figures, simply.  Standing there.

They’re a fair distance away from them, but still close enough for it to be quite spooky.

It seems Louis senses Harry’s switched demeanor as he gives up on tugging his hand, looking at the boy with question.

Harry just keeps his starry, lost gaze forward, heart completely unmoving in his chest as these _figures,_ clothed in layers, wearing sunless colors, and with mostly covered faces, begin to step towards them.

Soon, Louis’ moving his eyes in order to get a glimpse of what Harry’s looking at, and he freezes everywhere, except for where his hand holds onto Harry’s much tighter.

“You see them too, right?” Harry asks quietly, before proceeding to swallow.

Louis’ nod is almost too faint to even be noticed.  “Yep, I see them.”  His hand is slowly detaching itself from Harry’s, immediately sending Harry into a frenzy of internal panic as his eyes grow exponentially wide, because why is the boy _separating_ himself from him right now?

“Love,” Louis says as he steps forward, fists coming up towards himself as Harry gulps again.  “I’m gonna need you to use some of that liquid courage you had earlier.”

And.

This is not happening.  This is not _fucking_ happening.

“Whoever you are,” Louis begins, voice confident and loud as he raises it.  “Go the _fuck_ away.  This is a warning.”

There’s a faint, almost paralyzing snicker heard from one of them, before suddenly two of them are lunging forward, attempting to seize Louis on both sides no matter how much resistance he exerts, and Harry _can’t_ just stay back and look like a scared puppy anymore.  Even though a scared puppy is exactly what he is right now.

“Get _off_ of him!”

His protective nature over Louis is taking hold of him as he’s quickly flying over to intervene, separating one of the guys from Louis with much of a struggle and landing that same successful punch right in the core of his masked face—except this time, he _doesn’t_ take any moment to internally rejoice, and instead focuses on making sure the man stays down.

It’s extremely hard to see _anything_ that’s happening as they remain quite far of reach within the low lights of the bar, so all that Harry can use in order to decipher what’s happening are Louis’ piercing curses and grunts, and footsteps that are coming towards himself, because _Jesus_ , this guy really won’t _stay down_.  Harry throws so many jabs his way, into his chest, into his side, even taking quite a few painful hits himself, right where his nose was already injured, and also getting his arm briefly twisted a way it’s definitely not supposed to twist.

Harry actually curses the fact that the shiv Louis’d stolen from Mrs. Margaret’s dresser is in the car right now.

The only thing that finally seems to get Harry to take this guy down, the boy knowing he’s far behind and Louis’ probably already got the other two on the ground in agony, is the fact that he charges toward him after being punched in the face again, and simply powers a hard knee into his groin.

When the dude falls to the ground, his head actually hits the concrete pretty hard, and everything is sort of…silent for a moment, save for the very present sound of someone else breathing heavily that’s not himself.

Harry keeps his large, glassed eyes upon the figure of the man down below as his fists tremble at his sides, and as he whimpers helplessly and makes failed attempts at getting up again, Harry feels somewhat triumphant.

But that feeling is quickly overshadowed as he turns around to meet Louis’ eyes, finding that the boy also has another one on the ground by his feet, unmoving and seemingly unconscious.  He could even be dead actually, but that’s not something Harry cares about.

His bones begin to shiver a little less as he gets lost in the comfort of Louis’ gaze, but then— _Then_.

He breathes the word out.  “Wait—“

And the third one that Louis most _definitely_ hadn’t taken down is coming out from where they were hidden behind one of the cars in the parking lot, what looks like a _crow_ bar in hand as they’re running towards them.

Harry isn’t even allowed a second to react before the thing is colliding violently with the side of his head, only the faded sound of Louis screaming his name being registered before everything is consumed by black.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~
> 
> another song i felt could go well with this chapter (particularly the bar scene) is fool to love - nao ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O07VR9Twdt8))
> 
> so there it is! the reveal of why there's so much **stuff** unresolved btwn them and honestly it shouldn't have been that surprising if u were mindful of the little hints and actions done by louis thoughout this entire story, as well as a lot of harry's insecure thoughts toward him. whose side are you on?
> 
> anyway crazy chapter rite wow i was clearly on a trip writing this


	7. Seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya girl got hit w/ the hurricane of midterm exams sdfsgfsd sorry
> 
> anyway song for this chapter: don't panic - years & years ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QDaQFTWSi0))
> 
> ~

 

 

Harry’s in a state of sleep.

A very deep sleep, it seems, because he can’t really remember the last time he’d dreamed this vividly.  He actually can’t even remember the last time he’d dreamed at all.

He wishes he could dream like this more often, because as his head remains high in the clouds, and a feeling of blissful euphoria, composed of delicate rays of sunlight and never-ending happiness, is washing over his entire body, he never wants to wake up.

So it makes sense that he does, due to his severe unluckiness with life in general.

It’s an odd feeling, waking up without being made to—waking up on his own accord.  It’s something that he feels hasn’t happened in a long time, and it’s almost peaceful for a moment as his eyes rest and his mind begins to come back to life again in terms of what he needs to deal with in the real world.

As his eyes are willing themselves open, struggling to pull themselves from slits as he begins to feel an itch upon his nose, he feels that this is quite the ideal way to wake up.  He needs to remind Louis never to prematurely wake him up again.

Once he moves to itch his nose and finds that he can’t—and then tries again, and finds that he can’t _again_ , his eyes are more eager to open themselves now.

His breath comes to a halt once his eyes are cast upon…well.  Nothing.

He’s facing forward, and all he’s staring at is a wall.  A gray, almost metallic-like wall in a darkened room.  It sort of reminds him of his bedroom before Liam had urged him to get it painted.

So, back to how he can’t move his hands.

He maneuvers his gaze downward, taking in the fact that the bottom of his shirt is stained with the dark color of what looks like blood, which he doesn’t quite understand…

That is, until he _does_ understand, and the ludicrous events of the night are coming back to him with unprecedented force, and he becomes rapidly aware of the fact that he’s strapped to a fucking chair.

It’s kind of funny in a sick, twisted way, the fact that his reaction to being tied to a wooden chair in a foreign, dark place is more of a _welp_ kind of reaction.  It’s just that his life is such a fucking shitshow, one horrible thing constantly happening after another, that he doesn’t even possess the energy to offer anymore bewildered reactions.

His wrists are joined behind the chair as some sort of thick string remains wrapped around them, and his calves and hips are held back by a restraint of the exact same nature, Harry not even being granted the will to shift two inches to the right if he wanted to.

He doesn’t know what to think right now.  He doesn’t know what to be mad at, or if there’s even a point in being mad.  Maybe this is just where the events in his life were supposed to lead him, and this is the way he’d always been destined to end.  All because of a stupid fucking ring that he didn’t even care about in the first place.  He seriously wants to punch that fucking ring.

“Finally, you’re awake.”

Harry’s head comes up from where his chin had been rested against his chest, his entire body immediately tensing up, before falling into relaxation in response to the boy’s voice from behind him, his mind for some reason not even having had a slight hope that the boy would be in here with him.

Harry can hardly formulate words with his mouth as his breaths pick up in rhythm, and he’s giving into the wave of emotions that are flooding him right now in regards to the boy being _here_ and _okay_ and right fucking _behind_ him.

Harry’s fingers scramble behind himself in order to reach for _anything_ , desperate to figure out how close the boy is to him, and when his pinky grazes one of the boy’s knuckles, he figures both of their chairs are probably strapped together. 

And this is _so_ fucking cliché.  If they really wanted Harry to suffer, they would’ve left him here by himself, not right next to the love of his life.  Idiots.

“I am,” he replies, his words hushed.  “How long have I been out?”

“Dunno,” Louis says, Harry hearing the boy shrug.  “They took me out right after you, and I’ve been awake for like, thirty minutes.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes, once again looking down at his chest and letting silence consume them for a moment.

As much as he was relieved to find that Louis was here with him, it’s still bittersweet, knowing that this is how they’re going to end.  Still bottling up anger and animosity towards each other for varying reasons, not knowing how to communicate their emotions, not even being able to simply work together, which is exactly what brought them here.

Harry leans his head back, hitting it against the creaky wood of the chair as he looks up at the bland, shadowy ceiling of this small room. 

“This place could use a bit of a makeover, couldn’t it,” Louis says under his breath, offering half of a giggle as Harry straightens his head back up.

“Stop,” Harry replies bluntly.  “If you’re gonna take anything seriously, please let it be this.”

Louis opening and closing his mouth can be heard behind Harry, Harry chewing on his own lip as the pure torment of this whole situation (along with his budding claustrophobia), is starting to get to him.

“Harry…I—“

“No.  _No_ ,” Harry fires, his jaw setting itself tight.  “You’re not gonna fucking…”  He takes a moment to breathe, determined _not_ to cry like a pathetic loser one more time before they die.  “You’re not gonna joke about this.  You joke about fucking _everything_ , and you don’t take me seriously, and you’re so used to getting out of every predicament easily because that’s how it’s always been for you, but get it through your head that it’s not going to be the case now.”

“I’m just—“

“ _This_.  This is what you wanted, instead of potentially getting arrested and easily paying your way out of it, or being shunned by the mainstream media while still having your millions of fans, or…having your fucking face moved to the back of the magazine instead of the front,” Harry chokes, shaking his head down at the dark outline of his thighs as his eyes water.  “And you didn’t even once stop to think about _me_.  Fucking _me._   No matter what the outcome was, I was going to be by your side regardless, so all of that wouldn’t have fucking _mattered!_   But you didn’t care.  Just like you don’t care now as you probably sit there with that bored look on your face, just like you didn’t care when you fucking cheated on me.  That night shattered me more than anything ever has in my life, and I never even received as much as an apology from you—“

“Harry, I _did_ —“

“I’m talking about _actions_ , Louis!  _Actions!”_ Harry shouts, the echo of his voice continuing for a while.  “Yeah, anybody can fucking say sorry, but actually show me that you regret it, and stop attempting to justify it, and do something in order to change and be _better!”_

When he attempts to move his hands for whatever reason and finds himself restrained again, anger continues to truly take over him as he draws in a sharp breath through his nose.

“I really fucking hate you,” he half-sobs, still attempting to keep everything in.  “I _hate_ you!  Your fans, and celebrity friends, and shags may love you, but I hate you.”

He doesn’t even notice the tears streaming down his cheeks as he’s opening his mouth, sucking in air in preparation to say something else—

And then a door to the right of them is being pushed open, and because he didn’t even _know_ there was a door there due to the fact that he can hardly see anything, every bone in his body becomes frigid.

Harry’s grateful that his head’s at least not restrained, because it would’ve driven him crazy not being able to turn his face and see the notorious person who’s been ruining their lives for the last few days.

It’s disappointing when he doesn’t get to see them, however, the person still dressed in the same dark clothing as last night (or...is it still night?), their face now covered with a welding mask this time around, and their boots hitting the ground heavily as they walk forth, a device in hand.

It’s also not hard to miss the fact that long, dark colored hair is flowing downward from underneath the mask if he looks hard enough, and for a moment as Harry stares up into the tinted glass of the mask with fierce, narrowed eyes, he almost thinks this could…not be a guy.

“Your phone keeps going off,” is what the person says and yep, definitely feminine.

He doesn’t know why it takes him aback for a moment—girls can be kidnappers, he certainly has nothing against that.  He just hopes he hadn’t knee’d her in the groin last night.

Then his mind is adjusting to the fact that his _own_ phone’s being held out in front of his face.

“Tell whoever it is that you’re okay,” she says, swiping her gloved fingers in order to answer the call.

Harry has options right now as his phone is being hovered near his ear, his eyes not even having to see the screen to know that Liam’s name is currently displayed across the top of it.  He can’t imagine how many times the guy’s called since he’d gotten knocked out.

He has the option of completely ignoring this girl and screaming to the man that he most definitely is _not_ okay, but he also has the option of complying, and doing what he’s told, due to the fact that he has no idea of the extent that these _people_ are going to go to in order to deal with him.  He _had_ gotten whacked unconscious with a crowbar last night, and can still feel it now as he tries his best to ignore the throbbing pain going on and off upon the right side of his head.  The thing is, the crowbar may have been the _least_ harmful of their weapons.

Harry’s unbreakable gaze remains cast upward at the girl (well, at the eerie anonymity of her welding mask) as he leans toward the phone a bit in order to be heard.

“Harry?  Harry are you there?”

Harry can admit he feels defeated as he gives his reply, genuinely assuming the position of the loser in a long fought-out battle.  “Yeah,” he replies monotonously.

“Oh my god.  I’ve been calling _nonstop_ and you haven’t answered,” Liam continues, Harry briefly closing his eyes at the boy’s obliviousness to it all.  “What’s going on?  Are you okay?”

Harry’s wrists attempt to curl where they’re still being held back, and he forces the lump back down his throat as something suddenly comes about in his mind.  Something that may not even mean anything.  Not if Liam doesn’t pay attention enough.

“Yeah,” Harry finally replies, tilting his head towards the phone just a bit more.  “I’m okay.”

“You sure?  I can—“

“No, I’m okay.  You don’t have to call anymore.”  His voice is more empty and void of any emotion than it’s ever been, which he mentally acknowledges as a new personal record as the girl is bringing the phone away from him and pressing in order to end the call.

Then she’s turning on her heel and moving to exit again, and Harry simply can’t let that happen.

“What are you doing with us, exactly?” he asks, raising his volume in order to be heard.  She pauses on her feet, her cargo pants wrinkled and rugged and her boots stilling against the ground.  “You at least owe us an explanation of some sort.”

“ _Hmmm_ not really,” she says, turning around, her hip jutting out to the side as she stands there.  “But the painful cluelessness you two reek of is almost too much to bear, so here it is.”

She’s walking back up toward them, shoving Harry’s phone in her back pocket as she practically drags her feet.  “We’d been plotting a while ago to just kidnap Louis and suck a bunch of money out of him or something, but when we found out you two stole that gold ring—especially after hearing you _admit_ to it after chipping you, we knew there was _so_ much more money to make.  Here’s a tip: if you feel like people are watching you, they probably are.”  She’s resting one of her palms against the surface where their chairs are joined, the complete silence from Louis troubling Harry only a bit, even though it makes sense.  There’s nothing really left for him to say anymore, is there?

“We were gonna wait for you to meet us at midnight, but then we heard about Mr. Tomlinson being spotted at a bar in some random town and we took it into our own hands, since you two didn’t seem like you were gonna cooperate.  Anyway, we don’t ever want you reporting anything you’ve seen, and you’ve definitely made this harder than it needs to be, you know, with beating up both of my friends and all,” she says, pushing herself away from the chair as she steps back with a laugh.  “So you’re probably not getting out of here alive.”

She’s moving toward the edge of the room, back from where she had emerged, and all Harry does is keep his gaze in her direction, slowly pushing himself to organize her words and still remaining curious of whether it’s currently morning or night.  She scoops something up out of her pocket and tosses it towards the ground right before she pushes the knob-less door open and is stepping back outside into what clearly appears to be the darkness of the night.  Harry’s seriously wondering what this small, hideout building even _is,_ honestly.  How does a place like this exist?

“Ciao,” is the last thing that’s heard from her before they’re left alone again.

The silent tension is ten inches deep once the door is shut behind her, Harry’s eyebrows creasing together and his gaze moving downward to study whatever small, spherical thing she’d thrown onto the ground, even though it’s just about impossible given the lack of light.

“Well…” he says lowly, not exactly knowing what his reaction to everything is supposed to be. 

So obviously, both of the times Harry had suspected they were being watched, he was right.  He wouldn’t be surprised if this is the girl he’d somewhat seen on the bus.  Wouldn’t be surprised if one of the guys he and Louis beat up yesterday were spotted at the country club.  Clearly these are just a bunch of demented kids, void of morals and trying to have fun while making money.

These people are smart, though.  Or maybe he and Louis are just dumb.  Idiots, dying together.  It’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it?

It’s definitely worrisome, the knowledge that Louis had been the future victim of a kidnapping long before he’d even come back to Harry, and that this is just the type of thing he’s constantly at risk for given the stature of person he is.  It sucks is what it is, and regardless of this whole fiasco, Louis still would’ve been in danger.

“Louis,” Harry says, keeping his voice delicate as he blinks down at his knees.  “Come on, you can’t just let me vent all of my emotions out to you and then not say anything back.  It makes me feel bad.”

There’s a bit more silence from the boy behind him as Harry listens to him breathe.

“What do you want me to say?” he begins, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s lips tilt upward on one corner very briefly as he swings his head back to rest against the chair again, seeing himself from Louis’ point of view, and knowing that he’s probably making himself out to be nothing other than a rollercoaster of a man who can’t figure out whether he wants to love Louis or not.

“Say you hate me back,” he replies, his tone both monotonous and bearing a hint of tease.

“I don’t, though,” Louis whispers, Harry’s brows furrowing as he concentrates on hearing every syllable the boy lets out.  “Although I can see why you do…”

Harry opens his mouth, the words stuck in his throat as he already begins to feel bad, especially after having listened to the girl’s mean speech about how they were getting ready to make Louis’ life a living hell.

“I know, I know,” Louis starts, probably sensing Harry scrambling for words.  “I know you don’t actually hate me, and it’s more of a…you hate the things I do…and you _wanna_ hate me, type thing.  Doesn’t hurt any less, but.”  He blows out a pained laugh, Harry closing his mouth and choosing to simply listen to what the boy has to say.

“The truth is Harry, I…” Louis begins, voice cracking just a hint.  “I didn’t do that…that senseless thing to hurt you, even though that’s what ended up happening.”  There’s a gentle pause that ensues, Harry choking down more emotion as he moves his gaze back down to his lap, cautious and calm all at once.  “There’s really no rationale for why it happened and I’m not gonna sit here and try to feed you anymore bullshit excuses, but it was more of a way of me proving to myself that I was better than this.  Better than chasing after you, and putting myself second—which was a brand, spanking new concept to me.  In the process of trying so hard to keep my dignity and pride, I ended up hurting you, and I’ve regretted that every painful day since it happened.  Fuck, even _while_ it happened.  I didn’t _want_ anyone else while I was with you, I swear.”

Harry bites down against his tongue and prematurely blinks the tears away, desiring to reach for Louis’ hand but resisting the urge for the time being, just wanting to hear Louis speak first.

“I’d done it all the time in the past and felt nothing, so when I did it with _you_ and it actually took a toll on me, and I had to immediately fall to my knees and admit it, I knew you were different, as shitty as that sounds,” he continues, the words coming out in sections as his voice breaks.  “I’m sorry that I keep trying to dance around it every time you bring it up again, I’m sorry that I get arrogant and dismissive when I feel like you’re not giving into me.  I’ve been struggling to unlearn that, and I’m desperately _trying_ Harry.  I’m trying to love you the way you deserve to be loved, and I’m so fucking _sorry_ that I had to ruin it so early on.  Jesus, I’ve never had anyone like you.”

Harry’s head is practically hanging down now, and he’s not ashamed of the fact that there are tears dripping onto his already blood-stained shirt.  He’s genuinely never heard Louis like this before—void of any sugar-sweet buzz words, promises that they’ll do this and that in the future—just acknowledging the situation head-on, without flipping the blame back around to Harry or saying something to lessen the seriousness of it.

“I…I know why you keep kicking me out of your life every time I come back,” Louis says with a sniffle.  “I get it, and I’ll stop now.  But you can’t expect me to properly love anyone after you.”

“Don’t…” Harry begins, cutting himself off as he shuts his eyes tightly, almost as though he’s feeling physically pained.  His voice is small once he forces the sound out.  “Don’t…stop.  Just don’t,” he breathes, breaking into a quiet sob at the last word.

There’s a subtle intake of breath heard from behind him as he breaks down.  “Oh baby…”

Harry shakes his head as he manages a weak chuckle through the tears, not even knowing it was possible for one person to cry this much in a twenty-four hour period.  “Wish you were in front of me right now,” he breathes, just now starting to feel that the kidnappers were somewhat smart about placing them like this.  “Holding my cheek in your hand, wiping my tears away.”

“It’s okay, love.  I’m right here,” Louis replies, the boy clearly straining his wrists in order to get his fingers to reach Harry’s, Harry breathing in shakily as he registers the contact of only a few of their fingers weaving together.  “Always.  Right here.”

“I love when you call me love,” Harry whispers, wet eyes blinking up at the ceiling whilst he feels the warmth of Louis’ touch.  “I love when you play with my hair.”  He sniffles a bit, his shoulders shaking slightly as he’s overcome with sentiment.  “I just…I love you, really.  And I wanna know that you love me too.”

“I _do_ ,” Louis replies, the pure passion in the way he says it sending vibrations through all of Harry’s limbs.  “With everything in me, Harry Styles.  I love you.”

Harry bites against the inside of his cheek as he lets the boy’s declaration course through him, genuinely feeling as though he hadn’t undoubtedly just _believed_ it until now.  Louis’ never said it like that until now.  Harry doesn’t understand how he’s managing to feel somewhat serene and maybe even _happy_ as he remains strapped to this chair against his will and minutes away from however he’s going to be murdered, but that’s the effect that Louis’ words are having on him right now, bringing him to try to stifle all of the emotion into his shoulder.

His plea towards the boy is more of a delicate breath once it falls out of his mouth.  “Squeeze my hand please.”

Louis does just as told, caressing whatever fingers he can manage tightly between Harry’s, Harry doing his best in order to let the warmth from the boy’s hold alleviate him into going out peacefully.

He’s tittering gently as his ankles fidget a bit (well, as much as they can), Louis making an inquisitive sound as he continues to hold onto Harry.  “What, love?”

“You know, this isn’t the worst way to go out,” he says thoughtfully, actually achieving half of a grin and having faintly blurry vision.  “Last few days have kinda been the best I’ve had in a really long time.”

“Nonsense,” Louis replies, his pitch rising an octave.  “When we get out of here, I promise I’m gonna show you an even _better_ time.  You’re gonna get everything you deserve from me, okay?”

Harry’s head shakes just barely, emitting a dry chuckle from his lips as their fingers remain linked.  “When we get out of here…”

“ _Yes_ , when we get out of here,” Louis says confidently.  “I don’t know how, but things are gonna get better for us from here.  We’re at rock bottom, it can’t possibly get worse.”

Harry shuts his eyes gently, an almost dreamy feeling settling in his core from listening to the man.

He’d never understood that belief—the fact that it can “only get better from here”, because it doesn’t make sense in any scenario.  Currently, it can most definitely get _worse_ for them, “worse”, being death, which the rude girl had so kindly told them would happen soon.

But it still touches the most delicate parts of Harry, because he knows what Louis’ doing.  He’s being the encouragement that they both need right now, being the one to stay positive, even though he’s probably trembling where he sits.  He’s keeping it together for Harry, and Harry couldn’t be more in love with him.

“Okay,” is how Harry settles on replying, before another giggle takes hold of him.  “I kinda wanna get a pet when we get out.”

Louis’ chuckling as well, his laughter sounding as though Harry isn’t making any sense.  “Harry, everyone knows I already have a Sokoke cat—“

“I mean, like a pet that you actually spend time with for more than two hours a week before giving it to someone else to take care of.”

Harry can sense the dramatic drop of Louis’ mouth from where he sits, which is already causing his own budding grin to stretch wider.  “ _Not_ true.  It’s just that I don’t have time, and she’s pretty vicious—“

“That’s because she barely knows you,” Harry replies.

“Okay, okay, whatever mister,” Louis replies, the amusement clear in his tone.  “We’ll see how you like it when we get out of here and she’s clawing everyone’s face.”

“I’m honestly more of a dog person though,” Harry snorts, thinking about it.

“So you enjoy papaya, the nastiest fruit, and dogs, the inferior household pet,” Louis replies, Harry drawing in a gasp that’s drenched in offense whilst the boy chuckles behind him.  “Any other unpopular preference you wanna make a request for?”

Harry raises one eyebrow, his eyes still gently closed and his mouth moving freely.  “I enjoy you along with all that other stuff, so what does that mean?”

“That once in a while, you actually have exquisite taste.”

Harry’s not even conscious of the fully curved nature of his grin, still in a state of dreaming and imagining a world where the melody of Louis’ voice is the only thing that exists.  “I’ll be the judge of that.”  He sniffs twice, head hanging down as he continues to squeeze his hold upon Louis’ fingers.  “Later.  When we’re out of here, and properly together again.”

It sounds like Louis’ preparing himself to say something in response as an intake of breath is being heard behind Harry, but it’s quickly interrupted by the sound of beeping, long and repetitious as it sprouts from a corner of the room.

Harry’s pretty sure both of their eyes glide towards where the sound is coming from at the same time, and it doesn’t come as a shock to Harry, the fact that whatever that girl had thrown upon the ground is the exact place where the noise is sounding from.

It just beeps.  And beeps.  And they just stare at it.  And there’s nothing left to do.

“Well there’s that,” Harry comments, his head going limp against the chair, even though every muscle in his body is tensing up.

One nervous huff falls from between Louis’ lips, the man clearly struggling with keeping his head above water.  “Yeah…there that is.”  He’s inhaling deeply before breathing out again, his growing trepidation only kick starting Harry’s.  “It’s alright, though.”

Harry sucks in a breath through his nose as his eyes fall shut once again, and he finds himself straining to reach for more of Louis’ fingers in order to offer him comfort, the continuous beep still playing in the background.  “Louis.  It’s okay.”

He’s trying to implicitly let the boy know he doesn’t have to scramble to assure Harry of anything anymore.  This is obviously something that’s just going to happen, and it’s okay.  They’re together, and they love each other, and they’ve finally reached some form of harmony—maybe at the last possible moment, but it still happened.  Harry wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Harry almost doesn’t even hear the boy speak over the repetitive sound. 

“I’m sorry.”

He’d clearly had trouble getting it out, because it’s more of a wheezed exhale than anything, Harry not even having to think long to figure out what he’s apologizing for now.  He instantly understands, and his heart feels loaded with the knowledge that the boy is even carrying this emotional burden right now, when really, he’d been a victim of it all from the beginning.

All Harry does is continue to squeeze onto his fingers, not even stirring when the sound of the beep begins to happen at double the speed.

This is okay.  They’re okay.

The sound of the lone door to their right bursting open sufficiently snatches both of their gazes, Harry not even realizing that sweat had been building across his hairline until now as a current of hot panic powers through him.

But then.

It’s Liam.

And Harry’s not even able to process anything because of how fast _everything_ is happening; suddenly Liam is flying towards where they sit and getting on his knees in order to undo the intricate knots they’re currently bound by, and he’s talking at them frantically about if they’re okay or not, and inquiring about their safety, and maybe Louis is even responding to him as the fast beeping is now relentless—but again, everything is tremendously blurry to Harry because of how it happens in an instant.

When he finally builds up a clear enough mind in order to speak, his hands are free to rest by his sides and he’s staring at Liam with huge eyes that won’t quit.

“How…?”

“Oh, because you obviously weren’t okay,” Liam replies quickly, now having the help of Louis in order to get their calves released as Harry still sits in a state of intense perplexity.  “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never simply answered that you’re ‘okay’ when I asked.  It’s always ‘I guess’, or ‘as okay as I can be’, or whatever.  Fuck, you’re _bleeding_.”

And that…makes sense.  Harry knows it makes sense.

It’s actually exactly what Harry’d been going for when he’d given Liam reassurance earlier, but he’d been certain there was only a slim possibility he would catch it.  Wow.

“But—but,” Harry begins, his chest clogged and his movements sluggish, due to the fact that he’s being hit with the reality that he actually might live now.  He’s not even registering Louis viciously pulling him up out of his seat.  “You stayed back…”

“Zayn drove us here as soon as you didn’t answer your phone around ten.  He’s outside keeping lookout,” Liam replies, the frightened glossiness of his eyes seen vividly in the dark as he observes something along the side of Harry’s face, his fingers tracing down upon it.

There’s just way too much information, and happenings, and _things_ to process right now.  Zayn?  This isn’t making the slightest sense—

“As great as this is, I don’t think we can afford to just be standing here right now,” Louis says, cutting into Harry’s thoughts as he’s already tugging on Harry’s arm in order to pull him across the room, Harry not even having noticed how speedily and loudly the device is beeping right now.

He just wants to see Louis’ face.  His utmost desire right now is to stare into the boy’s eyes for as long as he pleases since he’d thought for sure he’d never get another chance at doing that _just_ thirty seconds ago.  Fuck, that’s all he wants, but he realizes that may not ever be a reality again unless he gets the hell _out_ of here before that beeping piece of shit does whatever the fuck it intends to do.  And so he finds his dissociated, submerged self being forcefully shoved forward by Louis, his body getting pushed through the door and outside right behind Liam, and they’re just fucking running.  Racing for their fucking lives upon damp fucking grass and through fucking tall, sharp trees, and these people really brought them _deep_ into the middle of nowhere to fucking kill them—

And he actually feels it before he hears it.

He can feel himself being thrown towards the ground after a powerful force is sending shocks through his back, and his hands are buried in the muddy grass before the right side of his face is. 

 _Then_ his ears register the explosion from behind, and his poor eardrums experience nothing but ringing—a very reminiscent ringing.  He almost feels like he’s back in Louis’ car again speeding from the cops, having traveled backwards in time to the severity of that very moment where all went haywire.  As everything flashes white and yellow behind his closed eyelids, he’s almost certain of it, and he’s coming to the conclusion that maybe that day had actually been the end for him, and he’s hallucinated everything since. 

He can sense the painful heat of the explosion upon his back as he attempts to lift his body from the dirty ground and bring his sense of self back to life, and it takes a while, re-inserting himself back into this situation, realizing where they are—it’s only registered by the sight of Liam a few feet ahead of him, the guy on his back in pain, and judging by the movement of his mouth, the boy seeming to be asking if Harry’s okay.

Then Harry’s mind clicks, and he’s pushing himself up off of the ground with all the strength he can conjure up, whipping his head in order to look behind himself, and being nearly blinded by the sight of the explosion in the distance, not close enough to touch them, but not far enough for them to not have felt the impact of it.

His feet are moving rapidly on their own as he flies toward the boy that had been quite a distance behind him, the sight of him limp against the ground, unmoving, and as small as he is, breaking Harry’s fucking heart.

He’s quickly bringing himself to hover above the boy, flipping him over by his shoulder and running his hands down the sides of the boy’s arms tenderly, cursing under his breath for not making sure the boy was far ahead of himself, even though the boy kept pushing him forward every time Harry tried to even slightly glance behind himself.  He’d probably taken it a lot harder since he was further back than the rest of them and closer to the impact.  Jesus fuck.

“Please—please, baby,” Harry breathes, hand cupping the side of Louis’ jaw as he shakes his head around, the boy’s face coated with dirt from the ground and his eyes blissfully closed.  He just holds Louis’ face in his hand, and desperately grips his arm with his other hand, and pleads to him through choked words.  When he’d said he just wanted a chance to look at Louis again, this was far from how he’d imagined it to go down.

He’s such a panicked, frantic mess that he barely processes it when half of a laugh is sprouting from Louis’ mouth, one of his shoulders moving with it as Harry actually blinks with a double-take.

“That was kind of awesome,” Louis finally says, his voice endlessly weak, void of any strength whilst his eyes remain closed.

Harry’s not allowed time to react before Louis is curving a hand around the back of his neck and bringing him down unto himself, the joining of their lips something new and pleasantly foreign, as though they aren’t even the same people they’ve always been, and have somehow exited that murder house with transformed identities.  It feels like a first kiss.

Harry’s pretty much liquefied as he falls into it, the enormous relief of the boy being _here_ with him and _okay_ and _alive_ only powering him to press his all into his lips, one of his arms curling around the boy’s back and tugging him to sit up.

It’s sort of beautiful, the fact that there’s an entire building burning behind them, and Liam is probably sitting off to the side awkwardly, yet all of that is disregarded in favor of letting his mouth hang onto the lips of the one boy he loves, allowing the gentle feel of the soft boy underneath him make him happier than he’s ever been.

And he still hasn’t even properly looked into his eyes yet.

“So are ya’ll done with the dramatics?”

Harry’s eyes are opening before his mouth is hesitantly separating from Louis’, and he wasn’t even aware of how they’d both journeyed back toward the ground, both of his hands buried in the dirty grass by Louis’ head as the boy remains on his back, tugging at Harry’s hips.

He’d already known it was Zayn by the sound of his voice, but the presence of the man becomes confirmed once his gaze is now actually cast upon him, the boy in the same outfit he’d been wearing this morning, along with his leather jacket now thrown on top of it, probably due to the cold that Harry’s most certainly not feeling right now.  He even still only has his socks on as he leans against the nearest tree, arms crossed over himself and thoroughly appearing as though the explosion isn’t cool enough to hold any of his interest.

He points his thumb over his shoulder as he speaks.  “I’m parked on the nearby trail, and we might wanna go in case those fuckers come back to make sure the deed is done.”

“Yeah, also there’s a fire slowly approaching, so…” Liam begins, the illuminating light being reflected in his eyes and his elbows still rested behind himself as he remains on the ground, looking beyond at the spectacle.  “Yeah.”

Harry can’t really argue with that, since it would make sense for them to get out of here as soon as possible given the fact that they don’t know of whether or not any other explosives have been placed anywhere—but then he feels fingers delicately tracing through his hair, just barely gripping the short strands in order to get Harry’s wandering eyes to come back down to him, and all else becomes exceedingly unimportant.

Because he’s silently holding gaze with the love of his life, the one person who consumes every corner and crevice of his mind even when they’re apart, and he can’t focus on anything else besides the sight of his shiny dark eyes in the nighttime, how they stare at him with the same soft adulation Harry is giving right back.

Without a doubt, he can feel exactly what Louis’ feeling in this moment as he brings his forehead down to meet the boy’s, closing his eyes and letting the boy’s fingers roam over his waist embracingly. 

They’d both had a definite moment where they were positive they weren’t going to get out of that place alive—actually, they’d had a definite last few _days_ where they had vaguely felt that emotion, so the fact that they’re here, holding each other, worshipping each other’s existence, makes it all the more _heavier_ now, and Harry never wants to let him go.  He just wants to squeeze him and apologize for yelling at him and do _whatever_ in order to restore the peace between them because in reality, if he were to ever lose this boy, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

His pinky hooks itself around Louis’ like it possesses a mind of its own once the boy is offering his finger out to him, and Louis’ bringing Harry in close by his neck again in order to whisper against his lips repeatedly that he loves him, and all Harry can do is nod deliriously and remain under his loving power.  When Louis says he loves him, Harry can actually fucking _feel_ it now, he can sense it against his lips, and in the way Louis’ eyes shout that he needs him, and that’s all he’s always wanted, to feel fucking _needed—_

“Okay,” comes Liam’s voice, just at the same time as Harry feels a polite hand tugging on his bicep in order to pull him up off the ground.  “Up you two go.”

Harry’s still a delirious ball of fluff as he and Louis are both being pulled to their feet, Liam’s hand on each of their forearms as he walks forth with intent to follow behind Zayn and move further out of reach of the explosion that recently happened.

Zayn’s car comes into view pretty quickly, and it gradually dawns on Harry whilst he and Louis’ feet drag alongside each other, the fact that the man took the risk of using his own car to come straight to a crime scene just because he and Louis were in trouble.  It’s…a nice thing.  A nice thing that kind of saved their lives.  Perhaps he isn’t so choke-able after all.

“Didn’t even take you guys a _day_ to get yourselves killed,” Zayn mutters, an amused air to his voice as he’s yanking open the driver’s door.  “I’ll be waiting for you to thank me.”

Liam’s just released both of their arms in order to prepare to round the car and enter through the passenger side, but he’s intercepted by Zayn reaching out for his arm, letting his hand barely slide down to grip his wrist as he pulls him back towards himself.

“And thank Liam, of course.”

Even while being a tornado of many powerful, scared, and passionate emotions, Harry still can’t help the natural eye roll that happens in response to seeing that Zayn still hasn’t let this go.

He can feel Louis’ hands snaking in past his arms from behind himself, the boy tenderly reaching down to intertwine his fingers with Harry’s and bringing both of their palms up so that they comfortably rest against Harry’s chest.

“If it wasn’t for his weird tracker app we would’ve been dust,” the boy mumbles against the back of Harry’s shoulder, Harry simply closing his eyes and relishing the alleviation of the boy’s fingers woven into his.

He doesn’t get much of a moment to ease himself into the boy behind him, however, because Liam’s next few words throw him quite a bit.

“Yeah, I even used my Emergency App too!”

Harry’s sure the question on his face once his eyes fly open are enough for him to get the point across that he needs Liam to explain what the _fuck_ he means by that, but then, at the perfect moment, it seems, red and blue lights seem to sprinkle into view in the distance, and Harry’s eyes have never been wider.

The hushed, sharp sound of the word “ _shit”_ can be heard by Zayn before the boy is literally _throwing_ his body into the car and shutting the door behind himself in order to be kept hidden by the tinted windows, and Harry figures that maybe he should do the same as he and Louis just _stand_ there like frozen ice sculptures, watching the several police cars make their steady approach.

Liam appears to be slightly confused as a result of the mixed reactions he’s getting from everyone all around right now, and he’s scratching behind his ear as he looks blankly toward Louis and Harry, the close red and blue lights casting colors upon the side of his face.

“Did…” he begins, eyes hesitantly and briefly moving to where Zayn had dove into the vehicle.  “Did I do something wrong?”

Well, he didn’t.  Not really, Harry guesses as Louis’ fingers grip onto his even tighter, the both of them wearing huge, shiny eyes as they look onward at the sight of policemen getting out of their cars and looking towards the explosion in what looks like both awe and observation (or maybe it’s just a fire now, whatever, Harry won’t turn around to look).

Harry just doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do right about now.

And as one of them are walking up towards them, the others dispersing with their flashlights and talking into their fucking radios and—Harry and Louis still remain solidly attached and resembling that of statues.

It feels like a weird dream, watching one of the cops talk to Liam (since he and Louis clearly don’t look like they’re even breathing right now), asking if he was the one who notified them, and hearing something about them catching a group of people running away not too far from here who were packed with suspicious, illegal weapons, and how they currently have them in the back of one of their cars—which, that’s great news, honestly really great news but—

Fuck, are they supposed to be getting arrested too right now?

“Yes, they’re the ones responsible for this,” Liam replies with a nod (Harry not even having processed what he’s responding to).  He gestures at the brightness beyond all of their heads, the cop nodding along and speaking into his radio again, muttering something about a forest fire.

“Did they harm any of you guys?” the cop asks at some point, Harry finally seeming to move, if only a tad when he winces away from the flashlight that’s being pointed in his and Louis’ faces.

“No,” Harry quickly replies, _only_ because the bad guys are clearly already arrested and he _really_ doesn’t want to have to get taken into a police department and answer questions and drag this out any further when he’s _already_ a fucking criminal himself.  “Just…they—they didn’t—“

“They just started this explosion, and we got caught in the middle of it, that’s it,” Liam rapidly finishes for him, stepping slightly in front of the officer in order to pull his attention away from Louis and Harry, since he was starting to look increasingly confused with every passing second that he shined the light on their dirt-stained, distressed faces.  Harry is so grateful for Liam, and his ability to know exactly when to help push things in another direction.

There’s a silence that ensues for a while, save for the faint sounds of the other policemen walking in different areas, and giving orders to each other, and calling for the fire department, all while the fire crackles and burns in the background.  Harry bears absolutely no doubts that this whole thing is starting to look shady, and he’s pretty sure his heart doesn’t beat even once as the silence stretches, and the man in his navy blue uniform looks between all of them, and then over at the car that Zayn still remains in.

“Well,” he finally says, shifting on his feet as his other hand lifts into the air—which, Harry hadn’t even noticed he was holding anything else until now, but now that it’s within reach of the light from both the faraway fire and this guy’s relentless flashlight, Harry sees that.  It’s his bag.

“This fell off of one of them in our struggle trying to cuff them,” he explains, still holding the black thing in the air, Harry’s frozen eyes gluing themselves to it.  “This belong to any of you?”

All Liam does is shake his head meekly and take a step back when it’s being held out to him, which then brings the officer to step toward Louis and Harry, only blinking twice at how they’re wrapped around each other as he holds the bag out to them, the old thing dangling by the strap.

“Is this yours?”

Harry’s wide eyes stare into the man’s deep-set, dark ones that are in front of him, and he suddenly feels very lost as he just continues to have the leather bag held out toward him.

At some inevitable point, he realizes that he’s just been standing there, keeping his hands cemented to his chest and staring for a bit too long, and finally reaches out one hand in order to take it, grabbing it by the strap and speaking lowly.  “Yeah…yeah, it is.”

Which…that definitely contradicts their claim that they had absolutely nothing to do with the people that’d just gotten arrested, doesn’t it? 

The sirens and alarms are booming inside Harry’s head as he now holds the bag, and although he knows there was no other way he possibly could’ve answered, since he literally _needs_ this bag, he’s still fretting greatly over how this is going to affect the way the rest of this night goes for them.

All he receives in response is a head nod before the guy is moving past Harry and towards the rest of them, probably with plans to inspect the explosion and call for backup and do their jobs as policemen and what the actual _fuck_ just happened?

His own phone (hopefully), Louis’ phone, money, the fucking _ring…everything_ is in this bag.  Everything that they’d been so certain they’d lost just a few moments ago.  And.  Holy fuck, getting it back was extremely easy.  Too easy.

Harry still caresses one of Louis’ hands in his own as he slowly steps away and turns around to look toward where Louis stands near him, and he only finds that the boy’s eyes are just as huge and lost as his own, the boy just barely shrugging one shoulder as they lock gaze.

In his peripheral, the sight of the cop they were talking to, now conversing with another cop as he gestures at Louis and Harry over his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye, procures a moderate amount of his attention.

Are they just supposed to stick around, or…

It appears Harry doesn’t even need to ponder this question, because immediately after he and Louis are sharing another confused, silent exchange, the sound of  Zayn violently whispering “ _come on_ ” through the half-inch crack of the window, is heard by all three of them.

They probably _are_ supposed to stick around and answer questions, and not silently roll out in some shady tinted car, but suddenly Harry feels a gentle squeeze at where Louis holds his hand, and his worries and doubts come to a hush.

“We’re going home,” he whispers, an anticipatory grin poking at his cheek as he takes quiet steps backwards toward the car, Harry blindly being tugged by him.  “I just need two things.”

Harry continues to feel like he’s in a dream as Louis gets the back car door open, his feet feeling as though they’re barely dancing over the ground.  “What is that?”

And Louis’ tugging Harry forward by the bag he has in his hands, still standing right outside of the open door as he brings the boy into himself.

His words tickle Harry’s cheek as he speaks quietly to him, just the mere feeling of it already causing a tiny grin to tease at his mouth.

“My phone and my jet,” the boy says, before nudging Harry into the car lovingly.

Even if Harry hadn’t understood the true meaning behind his words before he’d gotten into the car, once they’re inside, snuggled in warmly with each other, and Zayn is coasting down the lonely trail that hopefully leads to an actual road, and Liam is freaking out in the passenger seat over how crazy that was, and Harry’s giving Louis his phone back upon his request, the boy having to endure the thousands of alerts he gets upon turning it on, he understands what the boy had meant exactly. 

This is the end of it.  The boy is ending it, and they’re going home.  The both of them have absolutely no idea of what that means, but honestly, Harry thinks that’s the beauty of it.  They just know that home is wherever they’ll peacefully be able to have each other by their side.

 

~*~

 

Louis’ private jet is nice.

Actually, it’s a fairly big step up from his last one and it’s showy and it’s extra and it’s everything that Harry usually despises (does he really need a twenty-four seven caterer in the _air_?)—but still, Harry couldn’t bring himself to wrinkle his nose at _any_ of those things once they were in there, and everything was quiet, and the future seemed promising for once, and all he got to do was curl up with Louis at the very back of the giant thing and blow sweet kisses into his chest.

It was almost robotic, the way Louis’ pilot welcomed them aboard with no acknowledgement of the current allegations—just a simple nod towards Louis and a formal greeting for the both of them.  No mention of how he was meeting them at the weird, early hours of the dark morning at some random location, no mention of how he may even be at risk himself for transporting Louis places without notifying the police, no mention of the fact that they look like runaway forest children as they remain wide at the eyes and stained with dirt and blood.

Harry figures Louis just _really_ knows how to pick the people that work for him, and he also has a sort of charming nature to himself that makes people extremely loyal towards him.  That last part Harry already knew though, but still.

They’d had to drop off both Zayn and the getaway car (which had kindly been left in the parking lot of the bar they were at) back at his place before the jet ride though, and it sort of felt like a deeply symbolic moment to Harry.  That car got them through a lot—they actually almost got their asses handed to them in the process of stealing it, all for them to end up tossing it to the curb anyway.  Zayn will most likely put it to good use in the future, though.

But potential uses of the car are the least of Harry’s worries right now. 

Actually, as he lives in Louis’ arms while resting upon the peach, plush seats, and watches the darkened sky gradually turn into the bluish-purple of dawn as the skies fly against the windows, he doesn’t have any worries at all.

 

~*~

 

“Finally, I get to look pretty again,” Louis says, just after he’s gotten finished removing Mrs. Margaret’s fuzzy hat off of his head and is now carding his fingers through his colored strands in order to restore its “naturally messy” look.  He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror as he thoroughly inspects his appearance, and while this happens, all Harry can do is thoroughly inspect _him_.  And just.  Wonder why the fuck a person like this is exactly who he’s meant to love in this lifetime.

They’re both currently in the mall bathroom sometime in the afternoon, and they’d arrived quite discreetly, what with their heavy clothing, and sunglasses, and Louis in the fuzzy hat that Harry’s never going to stop getting soft over, just so they wouldn’t draw attention towards themselves just trying to get here. 

They’d just needed some time to themselves to reinvigorate and prepare for the absolute shitshow that’s going to ensue as soon as they leave this bathroom, and even though they _had_ possessed a lot of time to chill out between now and the whole explosion thing, Harry can admit, he still feels his fingers trembling as he’s moving them through his own hair.

It’s not even _just_ the “turning themselves in” aspect—it’s the people, and their eyes, and their phones, and their murmuring.  It’s really just a lot, and it was all Harry had wanted to avoid when he’d first found himself developing feelings for Louis.

But now he knows it’s inevitable.

As he’s watching Louis take an eternity picking out singular strands of his hair so that they lay the right way and he can be ready for the future pictures, Harry knows this was inevitable.  Especially now that they’d gone and made themselves a public fucking crime duo.

He turns his eyes forward in order to stare into the mirror in front of himself, and he decides he’s just going to have to do this.

No one on Louis’ team had informed _anyone_ —not the press, evidently not any family members, _no one_ —about their arrival back into the real world, and how they weren’t _missing_ and _running away_ anymore for goodness’ sake, which is why they’d actually had a full day to simply rest and refresh before coming here.  Not a single soul even suspects that they’re back in this city—let alone in this fucking _mall_.

Harry’s proud to be once again dressing modestly and quite boringly in one of his many faded t-shirts and sweatpants, although he still keeps Zayn’s bandana in his hair and sees a very different looking boy staring back at him in his reflection.  Maybe it’s his short hair. Or maybe the scars and bruises upon his face.

“I’m surprised no one’s barged in here yet,” Harry says at some point, just as Louis’ straightening out the sleeves of his jean jacket and walking over to get himself behind Harry.

“Harry, through this whole thing, how have you not figured out that the world works in our favor?” Louis asks, the boy working in order to unzip the bag that’s currently strapped to Harry’s back.  Harry catches himself grinning in the mirror, one of his dimples showing without shame as the boy most likely takes the ring out of the bag before zipping it back up, pressing a single kiss to the back of Harry’s neck.  “Also, I locked the door.”

Harry nods his head slowly as his gaze wanders over to the bathroom door that is, indeed, locked.  “Of course you did.”

“I don’t want anyone to walk in on me taking off hideous senior citizen clothing,” Louis says, speaking with the ring between his index finger and thumb as one of the sink faucets drip.  “I need any and all potential pictures to be flawless, since this is like, a comeback or something.”

Harry has one hand rested against the counter of the sink (somewhat in order to stifle the trembling), his head cocking at Louis and his eyes blinking slowly.  “Comeback.  Right.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, closing his fist around the ring as he takes a step toward Harry, his grin stretching on one side.  “Think of this as like when Britney dropped ‘Womanizer’ in 2008.”

Harry holds his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks upward and pretends to think on it, Louis taking another step closer to him and simply beaming at him from down below as barely a foot remains between them.

“Yeah, except we aren’t popstars,” Harry begins, holding up his thumb in order to count.  “We did a bunch of illegal shit, and probably no one likes us nearly as much.”

“Media is ripping us to shreds all the same,” Louis replies, although the grin doesn’t leave his face.  His fist containing the ring comes up toward Harry, the boy sticking his pinky out as he brings his face a smidge closer to Harry’s, his lips sweetly puckered as he bats his eyelashes at him.  “Now are you ready for this?”

Only a chill wave is felt moving through Harry’s chest, but he nods his head nonetheless, bringing his pinky up in order to wrap it around Louis’ tiny one.  He offers the boy a “yeah”, although it’s accompanied without sound.

They lean forward in order to twist their hands around and lay kisses upon each other’s thumbs, and it isn’t a surprise when Louis gets on the balls of his feet in order to lay a sweet, chaste one against Harry’s lips as well, which quickly brings Harry’s eyes to close and his heart to beat a little steadier.

Louis’ assurance is whispered against his lips, and Harry truly feels as though nothing outside of their bubble has any significance.  “I love you, okay?”

All Harry does is nod, keeping his eyes closed as their pinky fingers remain tightly attached, and the boy nudges his forehead into Harry’s some more.

He figures…this will be okay.  No matter the outcome, this will be okay.  This was the best outcome.  This was the best outcome.

And that’s that.

Without further ado, they’re preparing themselves to leave the bathroom, Harry is stuffing Mrs. Margaret’s discarded Disguise Clothing into his bag, and they’re stepping out into the broad public of the central mall, Harry trying not to wince in reaction to someone _instantly_ taking notice of Louis from _several_ feet away and quickly calling out his name.

The jewelry store is right next door to the bathroom they were in, so it doesn’t take long for them to find themselves reaching the glass entrance doors, Louis pulling the thing open by the handle and moving with determined feet.  The fierce, purposeful way Louis is headed for the counter at the back without turning an eye toward all the customers’ gazes that move towards him, and the calls of his name, along with the way he holds onto one of Harry’s hands as he leads the boy behind him, only gets Harry to feel more clear-headed about all of this.  They can do this.

The person that turns toward them with quiet shock on his face as they make their approach is none other than the enchanting and endlessly polite _William_ , who Harry very much remembers was ahead of the rest of the world in thinking he was some kind of delinquent criminal.  He still has the exact same clean-cut blonde hairdo, and the same silver earpiece, although he now seems to be clad in a _different_ expensively tailored suit.  Harry assumes the rest of his clones of employees are dispersed around the small store, tending to other customers, since this time around, Louis and Harry aren’t the only ones in here.

It seems like it though.  What with everything growing extremely quiet, and Harry feeling what he’s certain is _every single_ pair of eyes cast upon him as he and Louis are making their way forth.  It definitely feels like no one else in here matters.

As William’s opening his mouth to utter something, Louis puts a finger up, determined to beat him to it as they finally find themselves standing near the counter, the boy placing a comfortable elbow on top of it.

“Listen,” Louis says, opening his fist and placing the stupid ring down on the glass of the counter in front of him, his eyes apologetic and glued to William’s, who now just stands behind the counter with those same shocked eyes and a partially opened mouth.

Louis’ closest hand is placed upon where Harry’s rests against the edge of the counter in order to calm his trembling, Harry already feeling overly self conscious as a result of the pin-drop silence of the store right about now.

“You can choose not to believe us, and to immediately condemn us, and go straight to every news reporter—whatever you want, actually,” Louis begins, his voice sounding tired.  “But I just want you to understand that it was an accident.  We didn’t come in here with plans to rob you, and we didn’t leave here thinking we got away with not paying for a dangerously expensive ring—we don’t even care about this ring.”  His eyes slide down to look upon it, Harry’s own doing the same as they probably take the time to internalize how much they fucking hate that gold, marquise cut or whatever the fuck, heavy, ridiculously beautiful, _outrageously_ pricy ring.  “We didn’t want the ring.  We just accidentally walked out and didn’t realize it was still on us, and for that we sincerely apologize.  Seriously.”

The guy’s facial expression is hard to decipher once Harry’s gaze is dragging back up to it, so Harry doesn’t really know what to think.  All he knows is that now, at this very moment, there are probably a thousand articles being written and a hundred pictures being shared on the internet and— _just focus on Louis stroking your hand._

“If there’s anything I can do to make up for the stress and inconvenience caused, I’ve got it,” Louis begins, sighing with heavy lips.  “Even though _we’ve_ kinda been the ones going through a rough couple of days because of this dumb ring, haven’t we, Harry?”  He gives Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze as he laughs lightly, Harry quickly growing aware that the boy is using his infamous charm in order to get the man to feel for them in any way that he can.

Harry’s still endlessly mute as his big eyes move from Louis’ blue ones, and back to the man across the counter from them, his head nodding only once.

“Just please,” Louis continues, his words much gentler now and the tiredness of his eyes sinking into William’s, the boy not letting up on stroking Harry’s fingers.  “Find compassion somewhere in your heart, and understand that we didn’t mean for any of this to happen.  That’s it.  That’s the truth.”

Once there are no words being said, and the only sounds present are the shuffling footsteps of people behind them probably trying to get a closer look, and the entrance door repeatedly swinging open, and the lonesome click of someone who doesn’t know how to silence their camera, Harry begins to feel just a speck of hope making its presence known in his gut.

And then William’s lifting a hand towards his earpiece and pressing the button on it.

“They’re here, come in _now_.”

And in the second it takes Harry to even _inhale_ in response, the back doors close by William are bursting open, and policemen, or mall cops, or _whoever_ the fuck these people are in proper uniforms and badges, are coming towards them, Harry just letting it happen when his arms are being forced behind his back and the feeling of cold metal is being sensed upon his wrists.

As the noise level within the store is growing, Harry not even knowing what the shouts are _for_ as they abuse his eardrums, and his feet skid over each other as he’s being aggressively pushed out of the store from behind, and he begins to experience the familiar feeling of submerging underwater and away from reality again—the only thing that stops him, catches his arm before he fully sinks, is the sight of Louis, right next to him and secured with cuffs behind his back as well, the both of them being forcefully led toward the huge mall exit and out into the brightness of the outside public.

And that’s all he allows his mind to focus on in order to maintain serenity as they’re met with swarming crowds of people upon being jerked toward the police cars that are in grand sight amidst the parking lot, with their colorful lights and sirens and whatnot.  Every flashing camera that attempts to blind him, every ear-shattering screech of Louis’ name (hell, even his own), every straining pull at his wrist as the cop behind him uses way too much power to get him into the back of the car—none of it is getting to him.  Not when he still sees Louis by his side.  Feels the alleviation of his presence once they’re literally _sitting_ next to each other in the back of the car.

Not when, even with the pain of the restraints keeping his hands back, he’s still able to press his mouth against the boy’s shoulder, Louis immediately tilting his head downward in order to comfortably rest against Harry’s.

The boy sounds quite confident in himself when he speaks, which doesn’t throw Harry in the least bit.  “Guess this is just the start of another adventure for us.”

Harry can do nothing but hum against the thick jean fabric at his love’s shoulder and wholeheartedly agree, knowing that no matter the outcome from here on out, he won’t lose faith ever again with Louis by his side, whether it’s in the physical sense, or in the loving vibrations that Harry’s able to feel no matter how far.  He refuses to lose faith again.

 

 


	8. Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yesss after four thousand years here is the last chapter, enjoy!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter: serendipity - bts ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejR5zKaPZ0g))
> 
> ~

 

 

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal,” Jesse says, the sound of him cracking his knuckles being heard by Harry as he remains down on the ground below him.  “Band sounds pretty suckish from out here.”  In just the half assed sound of his barely-there laugh, Harry knows the guy is only doing what he can to bring Harry out of the deeply vexed black hole he’s currently placed himself in as a result of being kicked out of the venue.

He’s sat down against the ground outside and near the entrance and exit doors, his back rested against the masonry stone of the wall, his ass uncomfortable upon the concrete of the sidewalk, and the stinging cold air wafting over his face every few minutes only adding to his misfortune.

None of the events of tonight seem to be getting to Jesse, however, probably because he’d actually gotten a picture with a celebrity out of this whole situation, and he’s also generally a positive person, and he also isn’t already having the absolute worst time of his life at this college retreat and didn’t desperately need a break from the environment of it.

Jesse is dragging his feet as he slowly moves upon the sidewalk, one of his heels digging into the ground as he cocks his head down in an attempt to get Harry’s faded, wandering attention.

“So…are we heading back?” he asks, a slight grin forming upon his lips as Harry slides his dead gaze up toward him.  “I mean, there isn’t much else to do out here.”

Harry takes a few moments to think about it, Jesse sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat while rocking on the balls of his feet, probably being restless in an attempt to ward off the cold.

Harry really doesn’t want to go back to that hotel. 

During this stupid retreat thing, where they visit “educational” public sites and take part in seminars with praised scholars and do way too many icebreakers for people who are over the age of eighteen, Saturday was supposed to be the one day all the students had to themselves, to do whatever they desired as long as they were back by eleven, and _of course_ , that’s the one time Harry gets kicked out of a fucking concert because some haughty fucking mommy’s boy doesn’t understand the concept of being a decent human being.

He just hates this retreat, and he hates being surrounded by everyone in it who’s clearly smarter than him and actually cares about all of the shit they’re learning as opposed to himself.  He really just doesn’t belong here, and he doesn’t want to go back to the hotel and accept the fact that he’d failed at trying to feel better.  He’d just wanted a distraction for one night in order to trick himself into being happy at this thing.  He’d wanted a fucking _break_. 

They’d discovered this band was playing nearby, Harry discovered Jesse actually was a _fan_ of this dumb obscure band, and there turned out to surprisingly be a few cheap VIP tickets left.  They’d even managed to weave their way towards the very front as the show started to kick off, and honestly, Harry should’ve known things would turn ugly from there.  He had been experiencing entirely too much luck for one night.

“Go ahead and go without me,” Harry finally replies, bringing his knees up and resting his head back to meet the wall. The noise from inside the venue sparks exponentially for a few seconds, just the excited revelry from the interior bringing Harry to feel even more pissed about this whole ordeal.  “I’ll catch a ride there later.”

Jesse doesn’t look too on board with that decision as he stops aimlessly moving around, now stepping towards Harry with his palms rubbing over his knuckles and his doe-eyes tilted downward.  “You sure?  It’s pretty late…”  He makes a point of itching behind his ear as he watches a group of guys pass behind him on the sidewalk, Harry just blinking languidly and genuinely not wanting to go back and feel shitty and defeated and just miserable.  He wants to at least enjoy the nighttime scenery…or the settings around him or whatever it is that happy people do in pretty cities like this, so that he’ll know he still somewhat succeeded in having a pleasant night.

“I’ll be fine,” Harry assures him, his forearms rested upon his knees as he lets his gaze lock with Jesse’s, not wanting the guy to be even the least bit worried about him.  Harry’s grateful for him, he guesses.  He’s the one person Harry’s met at this whole retreat thing who isn’t uptight and actually gets him…in a sort of way.  He’d said he found Harry funny, apparently.  He’s also kind of cute, but that’s beside the point.

“If you say so,” he replies, only taking a long step forward in order to lunge and tousle Harry’s hair, Harry lazily slapping him away as the boy laughs.  And then he’s backing away and stepping down from the sidewalk, hands once again finding a warm home in his pockets.  “Try not to anger anymore bodyguards.”

Harry can admit one corner of his lips stretches upward in response to that, but it only lasts briefly as he’s watching Jesse turn around in order to cross the street and reach the parking lot, a peace sign being thrown over his shoulder. 

Several flying cars with their headlights bright and beaming are blocking his view once the boy’s crossed the street, and Harry allows himself a gentle sigh, figuring that at least now he’ll get to be silent, brooding, and able to will himself into feeling tranquil.

When the entrance door just a few feet nearby him is being pushed open and the joyous sounds of music and cheering from inside the venue are once again beating at his ears, Harry buries his face into one of his fists and wonders why the fuck anyone is even exiting the venue before the concert is over _anyway_.  Can he please just sit here in peace and not be reminded of what a fucking loser he is?

“Wow.  You’re still here.”

Harry’s head is quite slow in swinging towards the sound of the boy’s voice, probably because it takes him a few seconds to actually believe that it’s him, and then it takes him even longer to process the fact that he’s talking to him.

His gaze is being cast upon just the distressed rips at the boy’s knees as Louis Tomlinson is stepping toward him, the boy leaning one of his palms against the wall and stopping just two feet short of Harry.  This gives Harry the perfect opportunity to simply look forth at many things that have yet to be processed—such as the almost shadow-like figure of one of his bodyguards a few feet behind him, Louis with his shiny vintage shoes, and his mesh black tee that really shouldn’t be allowed out in public, and his hand where it leans against the wall bearing various silver and gold rings upon the middle and index fingers. Only a smidge of a sweat can be seen forming near his styled-back hair, so Harry figures he must be having quite a fun time at the concert so far.

“Yes,” Harry replies, his words muttered into where he still has his fist pressed against his mouth.  “Where else am I supposed to be?”

Louis pushes himself off of the wall by his hand, joining his hands in front of himself and crossing his ankles over one another as he speaks.  “Well it looks like your friend left, so…” he begins, looking over his shoulder and down the street.  “See no reason for you to continue sulking out here alone.”

Harry’s lips are lazily parted as he keeps his low-lidded gaze upward and toward Louis, the boy only blinking at him innocently, as though he doesn’t even remember the public torment he’d literally _just_ put Harry through not too long ago.

“I’m _choosing_ to sulk alone,” Harry replies, only narrowing his eyes at the boy briefly.  “Except you’re talking to me for some reason, so I’m not alone, even though I’d really like to be.”

A breathy chuckle can be heard from the boy above as he practically takes a single skip towards Harry, crouching down gently and bringing himself not too close, but definitely closer than he should be in relation to a person he doesn’t even know like, at all.

“Look, I told you I could pay you back for the tickets,” Louis begins, toying around with the rings on his fingers, the intense focus of his gaze on Harry’s almost bringing Harry to feel like he’s being examined.  “Seriously—how much did you pay for them—“

“I don’t want your fucking money,” Harry fires, scooting himself back only an inch closer to the wall and resting his arms upon his knees again.

“Well what _do_ you want from me?”

“For you to leave me alone.”  Holding eye contact with Louis is somehow becoming too much right now, because of the boy’s willingness to not look anywhere else and the weird, softening effect it’s having on Harry.  He sighs as he swings his head to look slightly beyond the boy’s head.  “Just go enjoy your concert.”

The boy’s voice is endlessly calm and gentle, similar to the wind of the cars that float past behind him.  “Well, I can’t quite do that knowing I made someone this upset today.”

At this, Harry’s eyes are bringing themselves back to meet his, an involuntary breath coming in through his nose as he begins to unconsciously grasp at the fabric of his own jeans at the knees.

It appears that Louis takes notice of the slight affect the calm spell of his words had on Harry (was it that noticeable on the outside?), because soon he’s grinning crookedly again, tilting his head toward the entrance doors as he speaks.  “C’mon.  Let’s go back in,” he says.  “I’ll work something out—we’ll squeeze you in, I’m pretty sure they’ll figure it out if I ask them to.”

“No—I,” Harry begins, shaking his head and taking a moment to swallow.  “I just…I kinda realized, sitting out here…that I don’t really care.”

Louis makes a questioning noise behind his closed mouth, one of his hands sliding a silver ring up and down upon his middle finger.

“Or—like, I wasn’t really passionate about it in the first place…I’m…I’m just at this school thing, and—and this guy I—“  He curls up one of his fists as he brings it towards his face, not knowing why he’s suddenly losing the ability to articulate as Louis’ dark, warm eyes remain unmoving from his, and _wow_ those things really do deserve the daily social media trends Harry is always being forced to see.

“Actually, I won’t bother you with explaining, because you have more important things to care about,” he finally settles on saying with a sigh, letting his head hang down and his focus fall upon the concrete below.  “I don’t care about this concert that much, so you can just go ahead back inside.  Have your fun.   This isn’t about you.”

“Woah.  Something isn’t about me,” Louis says, blinking hesitantly as he glides his fingers through his perfect strands and settles his hand at the back of his neck.  “This is really hard to process.”

“Shut up,” Harry mutters, although it doesn’t sound how it’s supposed to, and instead sounds like an invitation for Louis to keep making him struggle not to show even half of a grin.

“Here,” Louis begins, shifting a bit on his feet (Harry definitely not taking notice of how impressively long he’s crouching) and reaching for something in his back pocket.  Harry actually has to pull his gaze _away_ from the boy’s thighs once a small, rectangular paper thing is being held out towards him.

Louis nudges it an inch in Harry’s direction after about three seconds pass where all Harry does is stare down at it.  “You gonna take it or what, cupcake?”

Harry gives the boy a roll of his eyes in response, but he still reaches forth to take it out of the boy’s hand nonetheless, making sure to steer clear of even grazing the boy’s fingers so that he doesn’t sink deeper into this…encounter than he already has.  He’s almost forgetting that Louis is a world-known literal celebrity who probably has a trillion followers across all social media accounts.  He really needs to just remember that right now.

Harry can simply feel Louis’ grin growing in size as he watches Harry look down at whatever it is he’s given him, Harry quickly finding that it’s some kind of coupon, or voucher, or _something_ , for the fucking _Croissant Chateau_.  A restaurant that’s miles out of Harry’s budget, a restaurant where celebrities go for their secretive dates, a restaurant where even the richest of people can only afford to go on occasion.  Harry’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have enough in his pockets to look at the complimentary bread. 

“They gave me a pass to eat there free for the next ten visits, and now I’m giving that pass to you,” Louis says sweetly, his eyes creasing at the corners.  “They gave it to me because one time I drunk tweeted about croissants, or something.”

And wow.  Harry had said he didn’t want anything from the boy, but this…he might keep this.  He’s not going to thank him, though.

“That’s lovely to hear when there’s so many people starving on the streets,” is what Harry actually says in reply, flipping the thing over to inspect the small print on the back of it.

 _If_ he even uses this thing, he’ll only use the first visit on himself and then give it to someone who needs it.  Only if he chooses to use it.  Which is a decision that is still being pondered.

“Wow.  You are seriously like a real life Eeyore,” Louis replies, cocking his head to the side as Harry’s eyes come back up to meet his.  “Minus the pink bow—which by the way, would look extremely cute on you.”

Harry presses his lips together in an attempt to prevent any red cheeks or bashful dimples from forming, but it appears all this does is get Louis to notice his fluster and giggle some more. 

“They’re gonna know as soon as you show this to them,” Louis says, picking the card out of Harry’s hand and reaching forth in order to slide it to tuck behind Harry’s ear, Harry knowing there’s no use in continuing to try and keep his dimples at bay now.  Louis pokes at it just once more with his finger in order to get it snuggly tucked within Harry’s hair and behind his ear, and he looks pleased with himself once he’s clasping his hands together again.

As much as Harry is turning into a smooth, buttery mess right now, and experiencing his insides becoming gallons of fudge, and just feeling exactly what Louis is attempting to make him feel by continuing to _stare_ at him like that, he’s also internally a bit frazzled for two reasons—one, why is Louis Tomlinson flirting with him right now, and two, how does Louis Tomlinson _know_ to flirt with him right now?

Harry’s not _in_ the closet per se, but he’s definitely not out and proud and loud, so the fact that Louis is clearly flirting with him right now brings Harry to believe that either he just silently gives off those vibes (thank _god_ ), or Louis thinks astronomically highly of himself and just flirts with whoever the fuck he wants.  Bold.

And as Louis’ talking gently and conversationally to him about how great their carrot cake is, Harry can’t help but think.  Doesn’t he have much…erm…higher profile people to be flirting with right now?  Like Brad Pitt, or that guy in that new boy band—it’s hard for Harry to keep up with who’s hot and trendy these days, but he knows there’s _always_ a guy that’s in a new boy band.

“…it really just melts in your mouth, you’re gonna literally die when you taste it,” Louis continues, Harry not even having noticed when the tips of Louis’ fingers had begun tickling against one of his own wrists.

“I don’t really like carrot cake, actually,” Harry says, his voice sounding foreign and strangely gentle in his own ears as Louis’ fingers ghost his skin in order to fully curl around his wrist.  “Carrots…inside cake.  It’s just a bad idea.”

“Horrible opinion, but I’m gonna let you have it,” Louis says, his eyes now focused on Harry’s hand as he gets both of their palms pressed together, hands spread open, skin against skin as Harry feels warmth originating from that very spot.  “Because you’re sweet, and warm.  Like carrot cake.”

Harry wrinkles his nose slightly, Louis looking up at him through his eyelashes after having closely observed their hands.  “Pick another dessert.”

“Strawberry cake?”

Harry nods once, the hole of his dimple finally coming to life in his right cheek.  “Better.”

“And what kind of dessert would I be?” Louis asks tenderly, bringing his hand down in order to barely tickle at Harry’s wrist some more.

Harry makes a pondering sound through his closed mouth, Louis’ eyes briefly flittering toward his lips and back up to his awaiting gaze in silent anticipation.

“I don’t think you’d be a dessert,” he says, Louis dropping his mouth open dramatically.  “You’d be more of a…spinach person.  Just disgusting spinach that all the kids hate eating.”

“You might not wanna underestimate the true power and excellence of healthy foods.”  He’s now actively caressing Harry’s wrist, leaning forth in order to grant Harry his ear as he speaks his next few words.  “What was your name again?”

Pfft.  As though he’d ever gotten his name.  This guy really thinks he’s smooth.

Harry’s lidded, restful eyes are studying the feathery details of the boy’s dark hair strands as he leans forth just a hint, keeping his voice low and hardly above a whisper.  “Harry.”

“Harry,” Louis replies, saying his name as though it’s some out-of-the-ordinary, pleasant sounding word that he should be proud of.  He’s pulling back, allowing Harry to once again look into his eyes as they talk.  “Harry, you think entirely too low of spinach.”

“I think about them just the right amount, thank you very much.”

“Well…” Louis begins, the hushed volume of his voice quite intimate as his gaze eases into Harry’s, Harry pretty much forgetting where they are altogether whilst the stroke of Louis’ finger against his wrist continues.  “Hopefully I can get you to think differently.”

And then he’s teasingly poking at Harry’s dimple with his free hand, before rubbing his palms together and rising up to his feet, leaving Harry to remember where they are again, and to rest with his fingertips against where Louis touched his cheek, and to once again feel the cold weather.

“So are you coming?” Louis asks, folding his arms behind himself as he takes gradual steps backwards.

Harry’s folding his arms back in order to rest them over his knees again, and his body and mind’s immediate reaction to that is to give a very hearty and committed _yes_ , but the more rational part of himself knows that it’s only going to be digging a deeper hole.  He’s already a fucking miserable mess all by himself, he _really_ doesn’t need to be developing a crush on someone like Louis Tomlinson.

“I…I think I’m just gonna stay out here for a bit,” Harry replies, reaching for where the card is still tucked in his hair and sliding it out in order to scan his eyes over it, not wanting to see if Louis’ face drops.

“Oh,” he says, voice small and feet stilling for a moment.  “Okay, well…”

Harry can’t help that his eyes flutter back up toward him, giving into the fact that he desperately wants to just look at him again in case this one on one moment never happens again, and he just wants to remember it, and at least use it to feel better sometimes.

“I’ll see you around,” Louis says, slowly turning towards the entrance doors, headed for where his bodyguard continues to wait for him (and _wow_ Harry forgot he was there).  He turns to look at Harry over his shoulder again just as his bodyguard is reaching for the door handle.  “Especially if you use the coupon, because, you know…they’ll tell me.”

Harry fails at suppressing the tiny grin that forms upon his lips, although he keeps his head down while it happens.

“I’ll know if you use it,” Louis adds again, sounding as though his head is barely peeking out from where he’s making re-entrance into the building, the sounds of people continuing to make noise inside of the venue once again present.  “ _When_ you use it.  And it’ll make me really happy.”

Harry throws his head back against the wall in pseudo-exasperation, turning his head towards the boy even though he can’t see him because he’s practically inside already.  “ _Okay_.”

“Just letting you know!” is the last thing that’s heard of him before the general noise of the venue is fading away again, and the door is gently closing behind him and his bodyguard.

Harry doesn’t know why he feels like the comfortable exhale he releases from his lips is the first one in a while, as he brings his eyes back down to the high and mighty, pretentious fucking Croissant Chateau coupon he has in his grasp, holding it by the corner and wondering why that just…happened.

It doesn’t matter though.  Louis is just a cute, charming guy.  He’s a _famous_ cute, charming guy, and now Harry sort of sees why—but that’s all there is to it.  Harry’s only going to obsess over him and his hypnotizing eyes and his lulling smile for the rest of tonight, and then tomorrow, he’s going to be back to his tiny, useless crush on Jesse, and reintroduced to real life, and this coupon is most certainly not going to be used by himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The song playing over the speakers in the elevator is endlessly calming, with its soothing beat, and rockabye-esque melody.  Harry could almost sleep to it—that is, if he wasn’t so giddy and restless from the events of the festive, formal night he’d just endured.

He hangs off of Louis with one elbow curved around the man’s neck, and he can admit, he’d helped himself to quite a few glasses of Chardonnay, but he can’t really be blamed.  It’s like the serving staff _wanted_ him to go home tipsy.

“I love this song,” Harry giggles, slumped next to Louis and mumbling the words into the boy’s cheek.  He feels like they’ve been in this elevator for an eternity now—either that, or he just hasn’t been paying attention to whether or not people have come in and out of it as his eyes focus on nothing other than the dimly lit profile of his love’s face.

“I wanna get married to this song,” Harry whispers, blinking up at Louis innocently as the boy does that pointy cheek thing and tries not to laugh at how ridiculous Harry’s being right now.

Harry’s suddenly standing up straighter, finding himself at his usual position of being taller than Louis as he keeps his elbow secured around the man, and he sucks in a breath whilst the sound of the elevator dinging goes off in the background.  “Oh god, is it too soon for that?” he asks, bringing one of his hands to cover his mouth as he bursts into more giggles, leaning fully into Louis’ space in order to rest his forehead against the boy’s temple.  “I shouldn’t’ve said that.”

“You can say whatever you want, babe.”

“I know, but I don’ wanna freak you out,” Harry says, pushing himself away from Louis and stumbling towards the front of the elevator, which has now caught his attention due to the clean, mirrored surface of it.  How is he _just_ now realizing how fascinating this thing is?

He presses his palms against the surface as he cocks his head at his own reflection in the shiny, spotlessly clean elevator door surface.  “Wow, I look really douchey and not like myself.”  He puckers his lips at himself before wriggling his eyebrows momentarily, only vaguely aware of the sound of Louis giggling behind him.  “Did I look like this all night?”

The elevator finally spreading open interrupts his thorough self observation, and he doesn’t know if he’s upset or not at the fact that he doesn’t get too look at his tamed, majestic curls (seriously, Louis’ hair lady is a _miracle_ worker), and his pretentious, sharp blazer, and his buttoned open sheer shirt that compliments the zipper on the shoes Louis had picked out for him.

“You _did_ look like that all night, and I found you very hot,” Louis says, walking past where Harry stands still in front of the open elevator and grabbing a hold of his hand in order to pull him along and into his penthouse.

Harry lets it enchant him all over again, the giant windows that span most of the wall in the living room and kitchen making it seem like they’re walking right into the stars as all the lights remain off, his sparkly eyes wandering about and observing the shadows of the fan high above the kitchen, as well as a bunch of Louis’ clothes (his own clothes are probably peppered in there as well) strewn over the chaise couches, the glass dining table, and a few areas of the floor.

“ _No_ ,” Harry finds himself whispering (he has no idea why he’s whispering) once Louis is placing his free hand against the sliding switch pressed against the living room wall in order to turn on the lights.  His hand gently intercepts Louis’ just as he’s partially slid the switch upward and has caused the bulbs on the pendant chandelier to fade into illumination, and he’s sliding his hand down in order to bring everything back to darkness again, attaching fingers with Louis and causing them to be now linked at both hands.

Louis’ shaking his head at the boy through quivering, happy lips as Harry’s walking backwards, blindly headed for the couch and not needing to see where he’s going due to the fact that he knows every inch of this place like the front of his own palm.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Louis asks, his giggles soft and in tune with the tender atmosphere that Harry’s experiencing right now, Harry finding his lower back pressed against the back of the couch as he brings one of Louis’ hands up to his face in order to press a chaste peck into his knuckles.

“It’s more magical like this,” Harry replies, keeping his voice soft.

Louis detaches one of his hands in order to curve an arm around Harry’s back and get him hoisted upon the back of the couch, Harry squealing excitedly through all of it as he buries his lips against the boy’s shoulder.

Harry guesses maybe leaving the lights off isn’t the best idea when Louis’ tripping on a stray water bottle on his way to being pulled forth where Harry still has their hands attached, Harry laughing through all of it and catching the boy up under his arms at just the right moment.

“I’m gonna die like this,” Louis says, their joined hands now set upon Harry’s lap as Harry swings his feet.  “Don’t you wanna turn at least _one_ light on so we can see where we’re going?”

Harry shakes his head, letting his eyes fall shut as he leans forward to get his forehead pressed against Louis’.  He can hear the faint sound through the barely open sliding door that leads to Louis’ pool—the sound of the quiet, calm water moving very gradually, bringing Harry to feel more collected as he rests with his head against Louis’.

“Tonight was fun,” Harry says finally, voice endlessly quiet and his fingers now drumming against the boy’s knuckle. 

Louis nods right along with him, Harry opening his eyes to slits just to see the look on his face and be assured that he feels the same.  All he finds in actuality is that the boy looks more unsure of how he feels about tonight than anything, with his lip between his perfect rows of teeth and his slowly forming grin appearing quite forced.  This has kind of been a facial expression that’s made an appearance all night, and Harry doesn’t know what to think of it.

“Yeah,” Louis replies halfheartedly, inching back from Harry and leaving his forehead cold and alone again.  “I’ve been to better parties though, in all honesty.”

Harry lets out a mere sigh as he shifts a bit where he’s sitting, maneuvering his hands so that they’re now cupped near the sides of the boy’s neck, sliding smoothly along his shoulders whilst he speaks.  “It’s not just about the party, though…it’s like…” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip for a moment, knowing he possesses deeper, more insightful thoughts about this, but not being sure of whether or not his fluffy mind can come up with the proper wording.  “It’s the fact that now we know we can, like…do this.”  He sounds breathless as he says it, almost as though his very own words are a dream come true to him, his fingers gliding over to caress Louis’ face so that the boy will actually look into his eyes right now.  “I did the thing—I did the boyfriend, coming to a tiny party with famous people thing, and I didn’t die.  I didn’t explode.  Yeah, this was the first time and stuff but like…it makes me feel like I can really do this.  Like, _we_ can do this, babe.  This… _works_.”

Sure, this is only one successful night where Harry finally gave into Louis’ month-long plead for the boy to accompany him at one of his many high-profile, closed social events, and sure, it was a pretty private thing where Harry didn’t feel as though these people cared enough to go blab to the press about this new guy Louis is secretly dating and what his name is and what school he went to and stuff, but this is monumental to Harry.

“I knew it would work,” Louis replies, although his eyes still aren’t meeting Harry’s, the glimmer of his irises pointed just past him and over at the blank, blackened television hung up high.  He leans forward in order to get his lips pressed against Harry’s cheek, giving him a thorough kiss before humming his next few words.  “You’re my very brave boy.”

“Waiting for the day I’ll be brave enough to not care about _anything_ , though,” Harry replies, deep in thought as Louis remains burrowed near his shoulder and neck.  “One day I’ll just be _loud_ and in everybody’s face with this, and I won’t _ever_ shut up about it.”

“And finally everyone else will get to know just how _loud_ you can be,” Louis teases, poking at Harry’s side with his fingers and quickly bringing Harry to tell him to shut up whilst weakly shoving away at his hands.

Getting into an impromptu wrestle with Louis, paired with the fact that he isn’t very sober, doesn’t really make for a good idea, because soon Harry finds himself leaning one way too far and being headed for a backwards roll off of the couch, laughing and giggly through all of it as it happens quite slowly and hilariously.

“ _Careful,_ love,” Harry hears Louis saying, only partially feeling Louis’ protective hand reach out to hold his arm as he topples over the back of the couch in a wildly unplanned somersault.

He ends up on his head, struggling to regain a somewhat upright position whilst he giggles uncontrollably and Louis sighs as though Harry is some child who won’t stop putting himself in danger.

Harry’s slumped against the couch once he’s finally gotten himself mostly upright and now has a view of Louis high up above him, blinking down at Harry and continuing to stand behind the couch.

“How are you not drunk?” Harry asks after a moment of thought, making grabby hands at the boy while still remaining down low, his body sloped over the couch and his fingers cradling Louis’ face in order to bring him down towards himself.

Louis allows Harry to pull his face in close, the blow of his words cascading against the bridge of Harry’s nose.  “We can’t both be drunk.”

“Why not?” Harry replies, running his thumb over the boy’s cheek as he brings their noses together.  “Drunk sex is so much fun…”

And Harry’s positioning the boy’s chin in order to pull him forward, yearning for a press of their lips together (which seems like it hasn’t happened in a strangely long amount of time), even though it’s probably going to be uncoordinated, and sloppy, and definitely not anything to write about.

But then Louis’ twisting his face away at the last moment, and all Harry’s lips come in contact with are the soft skin on his cheek.

“Really?  I’m honestly more in favor of sober sex,” the boy says, undoing the watch on his wrist as he heads for the living room light switch again, Harry not even aware of the slight pout his lips are making as he remains slumped against the couch.

He just.  He can’t ignore this anymore.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Harry asks, just as Louis’ sliding the lights on only a little, bringing the room to only be partially brightened by the chandelier up above. 

The familiar sound of Louis humming in question can be heard as the boy sets his watch against the circular surface of the small marble table, still somehow not finding it in him to at least look at Harry directly.

“I’ve sensed you being a little weird all night, but it’s sort of gotten worse now,” Harry says, lowering his face some more against the couch cushion and bringing his lips and nose to be hidden from the boy. 

Now that they’re accompanied by a bit of light, the sight of Louis’ wandering, uncertain eyes can be seen more clearly, and it sends pins through Harry, leaving him feeling as though he’s being stung repeatedly as the boy walks his way over to the wide screen by the kitchen in order to touch at it and turn it on and decide what setting he wants displayed.

“I’m just tired,” he replies noncommittally, one of his hands sliding down the back of his neck, and his other hand continuing to move against the touch screen in order to select a setting. 

Harry just blinks forward, where all he can see are the slight shimmers on the shirt Louis’ wearing, the boy not even facing him and instead finding this to be the perfect moment to flip through useless, fake environment settings on his stupid huge touch screen thing that he owns for absolutely no reason.

Harry just…doesn’t get it.  He’d thought after having successfully gotten through tonight, they would finally be on the same page and able to just be at _peace_ with each other after so many unnecessary arguments and fights and…ugh.  They still aren’t there yet, are they?  Most couples go through a honeymoon phase and _then_ slide into a pattern of never-ending friction and disagreement, but it seems they’re working backwards.

His voice is small once he finally speaks up again, finding himself even afraid of coming off the wrong way by voicing the question.  “Am I annoying you?”

At this, Louis finally turns around (partially), his words stammered over his shoulder and the screen now displaying realistic flames of the orange-ish, yellow variety.

“No—no, love, I’m just…” he begins, sighing and setting his hand against the sill of the viewing screen.  “I…ugh.”

Harry’s already shoving his feet against the couch in order to work his shoes off, his eyes softening as he steps upon the couch and over the back of it in order to get to the boy.  “What, baby?” he asks, his tone sincere as he walks his way over to where the boy remains far too distant and frail for Harry’s liking.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Harry says, his socks barely patting against the ground as he brings himself in front of Louis, resting his back against the marble that separates everything from the kitchen.  The orange light of the digital flames next to him casts a glow upon the side of his face whilst the boy continues to look down and out of it.  “Anything at all.”

Louis just continues to say nothing and Harry just continues to try and keep from sinking into himself as a result of it.

Harry’s suddenly reaching for a hold of one of Louis’ wrists, bursting into chuckles as his feet are stumbling themselves forward and into his space again.  “Is this still about that one lady not knowing who you were?” Harry asks, the amusement consuming him again if this is actually what the boy is still being dramatic about.  “Because I _told_ you, she was pretty old and you can’t expect everyone to know you—“

“It’s not about that,” Louis replies, the certainty of his tone bringing Harry to quiet again, and to stop swinging their joined hands between them.  “It’s…”

Harry sucks in a breath through his nose, exhaling desperately and wearily and…just seconds away from actually crying.  Louis should’ve given him a head’s up about how strange he would be acting tonight, that way Harry wouldn’t have drunken so much, due to the fact that it makes him extremely emotional.

Louis brings his free hand up towards his face, first pressing his palm against his forehead and up towards his hair before curling his fingers into a fist, almost as though he wants to beat the words out of himself.

“Okay,” Louis finally says, the confidence in the way he says it bringing Harry to feel assured that he’s actually going to reveal the cause of his distress.  His eyes finally come back up to meet Harry’s, and he’s talking expressively with his free hand, which inevitably brings their joined hands to sway with his movements.  “I’m just gonna say this, and it’s _not_ that big of a deal so I don’t know why I’m making it out to be this huge thing anyway, but…”  He takes a moment to exhale, Harry continuing to just slowly blink at him and remain thoroughly lost.  “I’m just gonna tell you, because I feel weird not having it out there.  Not having you know about it.”

The apprehension that Harry is feeling right now is...extreme.  He could almost die of it.  He feels as though his heart is putting on a fucking lifejacket, and maybe that’s a lazy ass description of his emotions right now, but he’s not exactly clearheaded.

“Okay, you receive any weird vibes from tonight?” Louis asks, his words now slower and clearer as he looks toward Harry for confirmation.  “Like…besides from me, of course.”

Harry holds his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to keep his breathing steady, and his head gradually shakes itself from side to side, even though he still continues to think about what few details he can even remember.  “I mean, no…there _was_ that one guy who kept staring at me—“

“That one guy, yeah,” Louis replies quickly, his words fading into nervous laughter as his eyes fall towards Harry’s chest.  “He was just being an annoying prick actually, don’t let him get to you—“

“Why would he be doing that?” Harry asks lowly, now not being able to erase the image of that chiseled, reticent-looking guy sort of wandering his gaze towards Harry’s way every few minutes throughout the night as he remained with his prestige model posse (he was probably even a model himself), and sort of staring at him as though there was a hidden  joke, or something.  Harry’s also now noticing that he was one of the very few people Louis _didn’t_ introduce him to.

“Because, we…” Louis begins, his fingers pinching at the air momentarily whilst he clearly struggles to voice everything.  “We kind of hooked up….recently.  It was nothing though, but he’s probably feeling all smug about it and it was slowly ticking me off, so.”

Harry’s not even sure it can be called a gasp, when his lips are barely parted open and he’s drawing in a breath.

It’s almost like Louis doesn’t even hear it, doesn’t feel Harry’s hand going limp against his, isn’t aware of the quickly sobering boy in front of him.

“So yeah, we just like…had sex, and I wanted you to know that we had sex, and I wanted it to be out there so I don’t feel so weird anymore, and stuff, so…” Louis begins, scratching behind his head, his eyes wandering away from Harry for a moment, before gliding back towards his gaze hesitantly.  “There.  It’s out.”

What follows is a silence.  A genuine silence, because there’s not a _single_ sound that becomes present for the next few seconds.  Not the water upon Louis’ pool moving just outside of the sliding door, not the digital crackle of the fireplace right next to them as the volume remains all the way down, not even their own breathing.

Harry’s the one to break it of course, even though his voice can hardly break anything with how nonexistent it is.

“What?”

He doesn’t know how he manages to sound so broken, and hurt, and betrayed, and just _disbelieving_ in one breath, but he does, because soon Louis’ eyes are flying back up towards his with concern.

“Harry…” Louis begins, squeezing his hand tighter and reaching out his other hand in order to smooth down the side of Harry’s arm, Harry hardly feeling any of it and instead beginning to feel increasingly unreal.  “It was just that _one_ night last week, you know—when we were yelling at each other about that stupid interview and you told me to go fuck myself and then stayed at a hotel for a night?  Do you not remember that?  I…I was just angry, and upset, and—and I—”

“The _one_ night I left?” Harry asks, breathless and broken as his eyes begin to gloss. 

He’s not experiencing airflow into his lungs anymore.  He can’t fucking _breathe_.  Last week.  He doesn’t know how to breathe.

Louis’ scrambling to get a hold of both of his hands, although Harry’s not returning his eagerness as he remains stunned at the eyes, immune to every plea and apologetic gaze Louis is offering to him.

“Yes, yeah, but baby, it was _nothing_ ,” Louis says, his voice desperate as he steps toward Harry, tilting his head at the boy frantically in order to get the boy’s gaze to come to his again.  It never does.  “It was _nothing_ , pointless nights like those literally don’t mean anything to me—“

“I’m…I’m sorry….I,” Harry begins, his words whispered as he shakes his hands out of Louis’ hold, ignoring the boy’s weak call of his name as he steps out of his vicinity, just needing some space between himself and this man.  This man…that he suddenly doesn’t even know.

A few feet are allowed between them as his back is now turned to the man, his eyes cast down low and focused on nothing.  He just stands there, beginning to feel…nothing, and everything at the same time.

He’s had his fair share of time being quite a sad and melancholy individual but what he’s feeling right now, as his eyes glaze over, and he becomes hyperaware of the beating in his own chest, and it feels as though Louis, along with the rest of this penthouse, are floating away from him, this is a new low.  He can even almost describe it as feeling like he’s underwater, sinking deeper and deeper down below and plunging into a lonely darkness.

He begins to feel as though that may be the _perfect_ way to describe it, because he just now realizes that Louis’ still talking at him, pleading in whatever way he can, saying his name, yet all Harry hears are muffled, unintelligible sounds.

When he feels a tug at his forearm, his head whips around towards the boy, and he suddenly feels like he’s being blasted with many things at once.  He feels like he’s been living with some stranger this entire time.  As he looks down at one of his shorts just beyond Louis’ head and dangling off of the coffee table, he almost grows terrified.  His stuff is here.  His stuff is _everywhere_. 

“You cheated on me?” Harry asks, still not having it in him to bring his voice above a pained breath.

“Harry, _Harry_ …” Louis pretty much sings, as though the boy is being ridiculous as Harry is backing himself all the way up to the couch again, the boy not relinquishing hold on his arm.  “You’re taking this _way_ too far, it isn’t that deep at _all_ —it was just one stupid night last week—“

“One stupid night last week,” Harry repeats tonelessly, nodding his head as his watery eyes finally dart back up in order to sharply stare into Louis’ pleading ones.  “I’ve been living here with you for six months.”

“Yeah, I realize that, and that’s probably why I feel so bad about having done that, okay?”  Louis says, actually sounding as though this is somehow taking a toll on _him_ as his hand cements itself against Harry’s forearm.  “I feel shitty about it, and it was a dumb move, and it’s something that won’t ever happen again, so if we could just move on—“

“Where?” Harry asks, sniffling once and currently using insane amounts of strength in order to maintain eye contact with the stranger in front of him.

The defeated silence from Louis speaks volumes.

“Here,” Harry answers for him, the word broken and weak. 

Louis’ chewing on the inside of his cheek, clearly struggling not to break eyes with Harry and being consumed by every type of guilt there is.

It’s as though Harry doesn’t even have to share anymore words with him, because his dubious eyes, and restless mouth, and relentless grip are explaining everything in perfect detail.  In so much detail that Harry could actually break into pieces at the sound of it.

“Oh my god,” Harry breathes, a tear making its trail down his cheek as he turns his solemn gaze to the left and towards the distant entrance of Louis’ bedroom.  _Their_ bedroom.  The door remains cracked open and all Harry can see are dark silhouettes of what he’d literally considered his safe haven.

“Where we sleep…” Harry chokes, wrenching his arm out of Louis’ hold and actually beginning to experience a sickness in his stomach.  He can’t believe that Louis actually let _time go by_ between the moment he’d confessed tonight and the moment he’d fucked some guy in their fucking _bed_.  He’d let Harry _sleep_ in that bed, he’d let Harry come back the next _morning_ not suspecting a thing, he fucking—

Harry’s feet are moving before he can even think about it, headed for the bedroom and disregarding any more of Louis’ desperate calls.

His fingers are blindly moving to slide the switch in order to get the room brightened, and the messy sight of everything—Harry’s clothes, jackets, books, and additional useless shit littered everywhere—sends a knife through his own chest.  He doesn’t let that powerful feeling deter him, however, because right now, he’s just focused on gathering all of his belongings, scooping up every clothing item he sees into his arms, snatching up the only two pairs of shoes he ever wears that he digs out of Louis’ closet (thank _god_  he’d already kicked off the shoes Louis bought him), and nearly tripping over his own feet due to the speed at which he’s moving towards the headboard of the bed in order to rip away his custom headbands that hang off of it.

“Harry, how do you not realize how insane you’re being right now?” he hears Louis tiredly ask from behind him, Harry only guessing that the boy is in the room by the proximity of his voice.   He won’t turn around to confirm though, because now he’s in the bathroom, avoiding the sight of his bloodshot, teary eyes in the wide mirror and working in order to snatch his toothbrush out of the glass holster.

One of his shoes are dangling by the shoelace as he remains with the unkempt pile struggling to stay upright in his arms, and his struggle to keep everything held is made even harder when Louis’ standing in front of the door frame of the bathroom and blocking his exit.  Harry still has tons of stuff in this bathroom that he needs to get but he’s slowly starting to lose it and he can’t breathe and he seriously just needs to get out of here right now—

“Harry, Harry, babe,” Louis says, placing his hands upon Harry’ shoulders.  “Please be rational for a moment.  Let’s sit down, talk this out—“

“I’m sorry, I’m—“  Harry cuts himself off, squeezing past Louis as best he can and losing two shirts and a single shoe in the process as they fall to the carpet.  He doesn’t even stop to turn around for them, instead shaking his head at the ground where his tears are landing.  “This just…isn’t what I thought…we just aren’t....”  He genuinely can’t even voice himself as he’s exiting the room again and falling short of breath, only feeling worse and more panicked with the sound of Louis following him right back out of the room.

“We aren’t what?” Louis asks, and the subtle innocence in the way he says it finally has Harry’s feet stilling, his throat choking everything down as much as possible and the never-ending tears pouring down his face.

“We aren’t…” he begins, letting his shoulders down as he shudders, back still turned to Louis.  “We aren’t what I thought we were.  I…I thought you—I thought we were in love.”

“Harry, we _are_ ,” the boy begins, Harry already being triggered just by the sound of him stepping forth again.  “Baby, I fucking _love_ you, and I’m sorry.  There.  I’m sorry, if that’s what you wanted.  I told you this because I genuinely _am_ so fucking in love with you—“

“No you aren’t,” Harry replies, shaking his head and moving on his feet again, mind steady and focused on nowhere but the elevator ahead as he picks up speed.  “You aren’t—just…just send me the rest of my stuff—or I’ll send someone, I just…I don’t…please, I can’t.”  He’s trembling at the hands and sobbing through choked breaths as he presses at the elevator button, and he seriously feels like he’s about to die.

 He turns a blind eye towards the fact that he loses even more from the pile he has in his arms, instead stepping into the lift once it opens and pressing repeatedly and diligently in order to get the stupid thing to close already.  Fuck, elevator front doors are absolute _torture_ for making dramatic breakup exits.

“ _Harry_ …” is all that can be heard once the doors are sliding closed, the boy stepping forward to no avail and being too late.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Red, please,” Harry requests, the wood of the concession stand counter creaking under where he has his elbow leaned against it.

He’s really happy not to have any idea of who the person behind the counter even is that’s currently preparing his slushy, because if he had known, and especially if it’d been Jace, things would’ve gotten super awkward, and he definitely deals with enough _awkward_ just by stepping out into the world every day.

It isn’t hard to miss the constant luminous smile the teenage girl behind the stand wears on her face as she pushes the lever in order to fill his cup for him, even offering a practiced toss of her hair over his shoulder once she’s gotten the plastic cap on it and is extending it out to him, her work shirt (a shirt that Harry would be glad to never see again) stained with dried mustard and her hair frizzy from the humidity.

Her facial expression suddenly switches away from overwhelming cordiality as she’s whipping around towards the back of the counter again, almost frantically.  “Sorry—you must want a straw.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” Harry says, running his fingers through his hair from the front and really just wanting his cold drink without all the extra dramatics.

“No, let me get you a straw—it’s the least I can do,” she’s saying hurriedly, the container at the back counter clearly indicating to Harry that there are no more straws, which is why she’s now down on her knees, opening the drawers under the counter where she’d set Harry’s drink, scouring for whatever she can find.

Harry drums his fingers against the counter, his teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek and his mind half-focused on the fact that he can literally _feel_ the gradual movement of every other beach person’s eyes gliding towards him.  He honestly doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that feeling.  God, this is why he’d wanted to be quick. 

“Got it!” the girl finally says, her hair tousled and stressed in many places as she rises to her unsteady feet with the single straw in hand.  She swiftly grabs for Harry’s drink and is turning back towards him, appearing just a bit disoriented for whatever reason, although still wearing her eager-to-please hazel eyes nonetheless.

“I’m sorry—sorry it took so long, I should’ve had them ready, I’m so dumb—“

“It’s fine,” Harry replies, taking the straw and cup out of her hands before preparing to back away from the counter.

“Sorry to be a bother, but,” she suddenly blurts, stepping forward desperately and sufficiently bringing Harry’s feet to stop where they are.  Suddenly she’s fishing something out of the back pocket of her jean shorts, and Harry already knows where this is going. 

He’s once again stepping up close to the counter as she’s now holding out toward him what looks like a handcrafted keychain with Louis’ face on it, and Harry can’t really help that the sight of it instantly causes him to hold back a giggle.

He doesn’t _hate_ this, really.  Among all the constant eyes, and the random pictures, and the shouts of his name from people he doesn’t know, being the messenger (or delivery guy) for all of Louis’ diehard fans isn’t really bad at all.  It just further proves to Harry that everyone loves the boy as much as he does himself. 

“I’m a huge fan of him, and he’s really going through a hard time, and I just…” she begins, stammering slightly and making it obvious this is taking a lot of courage.

“I got it,” Harry replies, fully nodding in understanding as he takes it from her, before stepping away from the counter again and sliding his hand into his deep pocket in order to drop it in there.  “I’ll get it to him.  Promise.”

The grin that spreads upon her face and nearly touches each of her ears brings Harry to grin as well, bringing his lips to the plastic lid of his cherry slushy as he turns around in order to get where he’d been headed—and also find people staring at him, of course. 

Harry doesn’t know what it is about this beach that keep people from swarming him, everyone opting instead to just look from afar—probably because they’ve all seen him work here before and are fully aware of the fact that he isn’t shit, regardless of who his boyfriend appears to be.

And so he just lets it happen.  He switches his focus to instead be set upon where he’s supposed to be going right now, and he lets that focus guide his partially sand-filled shoes towards the very edge of the beach, upon the many chipped, uneven sidewalks that he used to walk everyday at the beginning of the summer, and using the crosswalks that are just a tad more busy now that people are going to work, and school, and subtly following him, and all that.

It takes him quite a while to get to where he’s going by foot, which only brings him to realize that he kind of needs his own damn car. 

Well, he’s not _that_ certain there’s a need for a personal car since Louis drives him places, and a lot of the travel that he does now is either chauffeured or airborne anyway, but still.  For the time being, Louis doesn’t have as much freedom as he once had, and Harry would really love to possess a more efficient, _secretive_ way of getting to see the boy every day.

Because that’s how often he’s visited him since this whole court-ordered community service thing had begun.  Every day.  Even though he pretty much sees him before he goes, and will also see him when he gets out.

He just wants to provide the comfort and motivation of his own smile at least once to the boy in order to restore him in case this (quite mild, in Harry’s opinion) punishment ever starts to take a toll on him throughout the day, and also he just loves his boyfriend and there’s nothing else to do when he’s not around besides watch Liam do burpees.

So that’s why he happily takes the long, frivolous journey toward Louis’ assigned volunteer area, which is a pretty desolate and closed off park where the boy has to pick up litter and wear those embarrassing vests with other disciplined adults and whatnot.

Once Harry is finally stepping upon the concrete, nearing the fence that borders the premises _after_ having gone in an aimless circle a few times just to shake any potential followers (where Louis’ doing community service isn’t known to the public and Harry _really_ wants to keep it that way), it’s pretty hard _not_ to see the boy right away.  He’s the only one who has a giant pink butterfly sticker on the back of his blinding, neon yellow vest (apparently it needed a spark of color), and he’s also pretty much lollygagging over the field with a trash grabber in one gloved hand, and a mostly empty black trash bag dragging against the grass in his other gloved hand.

Harry grips a hand onto the metal of the fence and makes a dramatic _pssst_ noise at the boy, not even caring that he procures the attention of probably two or three more annoyed people who already don’t want to be here.

Louis’ first barely glancing over his shoulder with doubts about whether the noise was even for him, but when Harry lets out another more exaggerated one, they’re finally meeting gaze, the boy hesitantly turning around and glistening at the eyes, as though he doesn’t believe it.  Yeah, they did this yesterday too, and the day before, but the boy still continues to look at his arrival as something quite wonderful.  Harry loves it.

The way the sun is positioned, paired with the relentless neon of Louis’ vest, has Harry struggling through a squint as the boy is making his approach. 

Harry knows this moment is going to be far too short and borderline pointless, but he’s still pleased to see the boy anyway.

“Finally,” Louis says as he steps forth, garbage bag and trash grabber getting left behind on the dirt without a care.  “Thought you’d never stop by.” 

Harry honestly never thought he’d see a day where the boy would smile while in the middle of doing something like this. 

“Yeah, it isn’t like that’s what I’ve been doing every day since they’ve started making you do this shit,” Harry replies, his crooked grin lively and unmoving as Louis takes the last step forward to grip onto the fence within an inch of Harry’s hand.

His eyes smooth over Harry’s entire face for a few long seconds, almost with awe and successfully keeping Harry’s dimples from disappearing from his cheeks.  Harry’s aware it’s only a matter of time before Louis’ going to get called over and scolded for taking this unnecessary time to just goofily smile at his boyfriend, but it’s pretty obvious the both of them could care less.

“You got me a slushy?” Louis asks gently, batting his eyelashes and tilting his head at Harry, immediately bringing Harry to purse his lips together and wear a facial expression of blank culpability.

“No, but I _did_ get you this,” Harry replies, digging into his pocket for the keychain he’s just now remembering as Louis rolls his eyes at him through the fence. 

He can’t quite give it to him because of the fact that the metal openings in the fence don’t allow for it, but he shows it to him proudly, Louis’ gaze moving down toward it with doubt.

“Yeah, it’s _so_ like you to get me a pink, heart-shaped keychain with my face on it,” Louis replies, failing in holding back the little giggle that falls from his mouth as he begins to walk alongside the fence, desperate to meet Harry at the opening as usual.  “Who actually got it for me?”

Harry takes a long sip from the straw of his slushy (which is quite refreshing, by the way) as he walks, slightly kicking his feet at the ground and not caring for speed.  “I just realized I never got her name,” he says, licking at the cherry sweetness upon his own lips.  “But she works at the beach stand, so I’ll get it someday.”  He blinks down at his shoes as he thinks about it, because this definitely isn’t the first time he’s forgotten to get an eager fan’s name.  _The fan is too flustered and they forget to give their name, so you have to ask for it—_ it’s what he tells himself often, but fails to remember at the right moment.

“I kinda suck at this, don’t I?” Harry asks, dragging his hand across the rigged surface of the fence and reluctantly peering at the boy out of the corner of his eye, only to find the boy’s head wholeheartedly shaking.  “It’s just that I felt everyone staring at me, and I was focused on moving somewhere else—and that’s also why I forgot your slushy.”

“Baby, you’re doing just fine,” Louis assures him, voice low and gentle amidst the subtle breeze.  “Okay?  God, it’s my fault I don’t get to be out there myself because of all this stupid community service shit.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry replies, his mouth hanging open.  “Community service is not _stupid_.  You’re getting rid of litter.  You’re saving mother earth.”

“Thank you for at least trying to make me feel better about missing out on so much time I could be spending getting back to business, securing all kinds of sponsoring deals,” Louis begins, followed by a huff as they’re finally meeting each other where the fence provides an opening, the boy leaned against it on the palm of his hand.  “Spending time with you.”

“At least there aren’t any excessive cameras, and paparazzi people and stuff allowed here,” Harry says, not even knowing why he’s growing shy and flushed now that there’s no barrier between him and the boy.  “I get to visit you every day and not have to worry about getting jumped on by some greedy news reporters, so that’s good.”

“Honestly, after several days of having absolutely _none_ of that, hearing that it wasn’t allowed here kinda bummed me out,” Louis replies, Harry blinking boredly and unconsciously swinging around the keychain in his left hand.  “I’d kinda needed to refresh.”

“Well,” Harry begins, gently tugging the boy forward by reaching out a hand and wrapping a finger around one of his belt loops.  “I’m happy with this.”  He moves his hand in order to get the keychain into Louis’ pocket, Louis beaming up at him like the sun itself and effortlessly allowing himself to be brought closer.  “I’m happy with you.”

“Same,” Louis replies, voice hardly there as his focus now centers in on Harry’s mouth, the slushy in his hand almost growing crushed between them as Harry seems to forget about anything that doesn’t involve Louis, and his messed, undone reddish-brown hair, and his stupid perfect smile that’s been permanent for weeks now, and his stunning, powerful eyes.

“ _Tomlinson!”_

And of course.

Louis’ letting out a stubborn huff as he looks over his shoulder, already finding the officer that watches over them signaling that he should get back to what he was doing, and all Harry can do is rock on his feet and mentally beg for time to move faster so they can be together without any interruptions again.

“See you when you get out?” Harry asks, holding his bottom lip between his teeth and remaining endlessly hopeful.

“’Course,” Louis replies tenderly, grabbing a hold of his hand just as Harry’s taking a step back and swiftly pulling him all the way forward, Harry only taken aback slightly as he falls right into the man’s lips.

He latches his mouth onto the pillows of the lips in front of him as one of Louis’ hands snake behind his waist, and he feels both weightless and breathless once Louis pulls back and is barely whispering against his lips.  He even feels too weak and subdued to open his own eyes at the moment.

It’s always a tad bit weird…kissing in public now.  Because they’re a thing, and everyone knows they’re a thing, and it just feels like in a way, they’re doing a service by displaying PDA or something—but somehow, Louis manages to still wash those thoughts away with how purely intimate he makes everything, more so than before.  He knows the boy is literally putting in extra effort in order to ensure that Harry can still feel like the two of them share their own little world, and it’s working.

“You’ll be the first person I see,” Louis tells him softly, Harry nodding wordlessly as Louis is slowly stepping himself back.

His eyes take a century and a half to move open once Louis is smoothing his gloved hand down the goose bumps on Harry’s forearm, taking a while to finally slip his grip off of Harry’s wrist before he turns away.  

And Harry’s left with nothing but a burning elation for when he’ll see the boy again.

 

~*~

 

There are just…a lot of court-related appearances, and stuffs to sign, and pleadings, and _things_.

Not that Harry’s complaining or anything, because this is _far_ better than spending an eternity in jail, but there are seriously a _lot_ of appearances they have to make.  A lot of instances where Harry has to bring himself _back_ out to the public just to be bombarded daily with flashing cameras and questions being barked at him a mile a minute. 

 _Louis_ of course makes the most out of it, what with sporting some different, eccentric (what his fans deem “iconic”) get-up every time he’s papped while they’re both making their way to where they need to be. 

Everything is really chaotic for Harry right now, in all honesty.  It’s as though his life has essentially taken a forward kick to the ass and he’s now fully immersed in an existence of being watched endlessly, talked to by people he doesn’t know (why do they even care about him?  Because he robbed a store?  He doesn’t get it) and if he reads his name in some article as “Louis Tomlinson’s Boy Toy” again he thinks he’s seriously going to snap.

Louis—sweet, famous, rich Louis, obviously paid their way out of a lot of consequences, because they _did_ flee several cop cars and crash onto public property and go under the radar at the most suspicious time possible.

They’re taking whatever punishments they _do_ have to endure with ease.  Harry doesn’t really have any though—all that’s left is the fact that Louis has to do his court-ordered community service regularly for the next few months.

In the midst of all the chaos, however, there are a few moments of solace where they aren’t out and in view of everyone, and are reminded of the fact that they still have each other, and that they’re together, and that they’re in love.

Right now is definitely one of those moments, even though it’s soon coming to an end, since they’re both in their hotel suite just minutes away from leaving in order for Louis to attend one of his press conferences that Harry seriously does not see the point in.  The boy just obviously loves the spotlight and having mics in his face and pretty much talking about himself in general, whether it’s about a new brand of shoe he’s endorsing or a burglary Q & A. 

Apparently he’s supposed to be uselessly talking to the press some more about things that aren’t even really their business, such as the fact that the owner of the jewelry shop is dropping charges against them (his store’s been booming with business ever since, so obviously he’s fine), what Louis’ plans for the future are regarding this “comeback” (wow they’re really playing into his Britney analogy), their last court appearance, and why his hair looks the way that it does. 

Harry’s just going to be there for boyfriend support, of course, even though he now hates that whenever he accompanies Louis in public, it turns into some huge “it” couple thing instead of just being about Louis as an individual professional.  He wants the boy to be able to exist on his own and not be overshadowed by some glorified relationship craze.

He’s just grateful that right now, as he picks at the breakfast danishes he’d ordered through room service and watches as Louis fixes the choker around his neck and stands in front of the mirror at the edge of the suite, they get this last moment to themselves.  They’d taken almost every precaution in order to ensure that _no one_ would even know that they’re currently in this hotel, and judging by the fact that Harry can’t hear any distant murmurs down below at the hotel entrance, he figures they’d done a good job of that.

“Are you gonna eat it, or what?” Louis asks, his voice teasing and his eyes looking into Harry’s in the mirror, fingers still adjusting the choker around his neck.

Harry huffs amusedly only once as he brings his shy gaze back down to the cherry danish in his hand, setting it down against the tray with all the others.  “I’m still deciding.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to take one to go and stare at it in the car, because we’re about to leave,” Louis replies, now smoothening out his stylish windbreaker jacket and stepping one foot back from the mirror.

Louis dresses up nicely for literally everything.  Which is okay.  It’s just that it makes Harry look like a homeless person next to him though, especially on a day like today where Harry literally only has the energy to dress himself in sweatpants and a hoodie.  He just really hopes there aren’t too many pictures taken of himself today.

And _wow_ he’s starting to sound like Louis.

“Come on,” Louis says softly, now turning around toward Harry and holding a hand out, despite the many feet between them.

Harry moves his eyes back down to the tray on the counter in front of him, snatching the same danish right back off of it and _really_ not wanting to go back to being Trending People again.  He needs a _nap_.

He rolls the small thing around in his hand as he takes dragged, shuffled steps toward Louis, not even being ashamed of the pouty downward curve of his lips, along with the way it brings Louis to sigh and immediately roll his eyes.

“Ten more minutes,” Harry says, picking a piece away from the danish as he comes toward Louis, extending his hand toward the boy’s mouth in order to feed it to him.

Louis takes it in his mouth and chews wholeheartedly, although he’s still wearing the slightly vexed look on his face as he crosses his arms in front of himself.  “You said that ten minutes ago and we’re already late,” he muffles, reaching down for Harry’s wrist and fishing his keys out of his pocket as he begins to pull the boy along.  “Now c’mon, my love.”

So Harry just complies, even if it is with the attitude of a ten year old child.  He complies because he knows this is important to Louis, and even though he may not understand it, he’s going to support him.  That’s what they’re supposed to do as partners, and it’s going to ensure that they don’t break each other’s hearts anymore.

It’s just as they’re journeying across the lobby and near the revolving entrance of the grand hotel hand in hand, that Louis’ doing what he can to alleviate Harry by claiming the conference may be short anyway, because the buzz of this whole situation may be dying down.

“You think so?” Harry asks, hand rested against the glass of one of the revolving doors as they walk.

Maybe Louis replies to him, maybe he doesn’t—either way, Harry will never know, because the instant they’re stepping outside and he’s advancing forward even _slightly,_ the intense, blaring flash of a camera right in front of his face is what he gets punched with, followed by a million other cameras clicking immediately after it and more words and names and stupid shit being yelled at him.

The faint shock it’d brought him rapidly causes Harry to spin straight around and bury his forehead into Louis’ shoulder out of a sense of helplessness and not really knowing what else to do.

The feeling of his face against his love’s shoulder, along with Louis’ arm coming up to make itself snug against his lower waist and keep him close, helps somewhat but there’s still so much invasive _noise_ in the background and Harry almost feels faint.

He’d thought they’d succeeded in getting _rid_ of them for the time being.  Ugh.

He pulls his hoodie on over his head as Louis’ doing one of the things he’s best at; engaging with them cordially and answering their questions politely no matter how nasty and over-the-top they can be.  Harry just makes a nest out of the boy’s shoulder with his hands and the hoodie he has over his head, and simply burrows himself, willing this situation to fade away, even though he feels the vibrations of Louis continuing to speak to them against his head.

One particular question that sprouts from them, loud and quite distinct from the others in more ways than one, is pretty much what brings everything to become a bit more hushed—which isn’t saying much for how noisy and chaotic everything is, anyway.

“Do you guys feel ashamed of yourselves?”

Louis’ sigh is heavy and fully loaded when he lets it out, only a few of Harry’s fingers grasping the material of his jacket at the shoulder.

“I know you’re just looking for a reaction, and I despise myself for having to give one to you, but no,” Louis replies, the calm ease of his voice bringing the paparazzi people to actually quiet down some more, probably in order to listen to him better and record him relentlessly and see how easily they can twist his words later on.  “We aren’t ashamed of ourselves, because we have no reason to be.  I’m done exhausting myself over stressing the fact that we’re innocent, because you guys can honestly believe whatever you want.  We did nothing wrong, and we know who we are.”

Harry doesn’t offer anything other than a soft, hidden peck of his lips against the crook of the boy’s neck as the volume of questions are coming back up swiftly.

“But you dragged your boyfriend into all of this with you!  How do you feel about that?” 

It’s a question that barely sticks out more than the others, but despite this, it still has Harry slowly peeking his eyes out of the cave he’s made in Louis’ shoulders, and this _definitely_ brings things to a quieter level.  Harry honestly doesn’t think he’s ever heard them be this quiet, now that everyone’s staring with huge eyes and budding anticipation.

“I can answer that one,” Harry replies, using as polite a tone as he can muster, the side of his head still rested upon Louis’ shoulder as the faint sound of the boy swallowing can be heard next to him.  He doesn’t even know _who_ had asked the question, all he knows is that they’re all shitty and he doesn’t care about their opinions, so it would really make no difference to set his gaze upon the middle-aged, male pap who’s front and center.

“I feel that…”  He lifts his head up and out of Louis’ shoulder slowly and gently, one of his hands sliding down in order to caress itself against one of Louis’, and he scratches at his ear with the other hand.  “You should go fuck yourself.”

He doesn’t even let the response linger for half a second before tugging on Louis’ hand and literally sending themselves _running_ through the small crack in the paparazzi cloud, a lopsided grin shining on his face once they’re dashing on their feet alongside each other and rounding the building, headed for the parking lot in the back so that they can get to Louis’ car and be free of these fucking dipshits.

They lose pretty much all of them quite quickly, probably because being however old they are makes them essentially no match for Louis and Harry’s running capabilities (especially now that they’ve acquired a lot of practice from being fugitives and all), and they soon find themselves throwing their bodies into Louis’ car, bones shaking with revelry and mouths unable to stop laughing about all of it.

“You realize you just opened a can of worms with that, right?” Louis asks, the last of his giggles bursting from his lips as he clicks on his seatbelt.

 “Louis, we’ve been kidnapped and almost blown up before,” Harry replies, leaning forward on his armrest in order to bring his face within a hair of the boy’s.  “I think we can handle it.”

Louis’ eyes are dazed as his head drifts closer to Harry, seemingly studying the details contained within each eyelid before observing his cushiony lips.  “God, you’re so sexy like this.”

He grips the bottom of Harry’s chin in order to swiftly bring him forth, their lips purposefully puckering over each other only once, Harry barely closing his eyes in time for it before it ends.

“Now let’s do this,” Louis replies, settling back in his seat and pushing to start the car, all while Harry remains in the same close position, his starry eyes settled upon Louis and his cotton mind preoccupied with thoughts about how good they are together.  How great they will be.

 

~*~

 

The hum of the engine is strangely calming to Harry once he’s gradually stirring away from sleep, keeping his eyes closed and the back of his head comfortably rested in Louis’ chest.

If he remembers correctly (because his nap had run quite deep) they’re in Louis’ private jet right now, reclined in one of the plush seats. 

He’s not exactly sure where they’re headed right now, because before he’d peacefully fallen asleep to the feeling of the boy’s soothing breaths and tiny fingers tracing through his (now longer) hair, the boy hadn’t made up his mind on whether they were going to Disney World or Paris today. 

It’s been quite a relaxed day nonetheless, what with it being the first day in a while where Louis is left to his own company and has nothing on his agenda—so naturally, they came to the quick conclusion that they should spend this day being adventurous together.  Of course, _Harry_ had just been thinking of feeding birds in the park or something, but Louis obviously doesn’t think that small.  Like, ever.

Once his eyes are finally being pulled open after a while of tossing his head, Louis’ fingers are moving through his hair delicately again, as though they’d just been resting there, waiting for him to wake up.

Louis’ knees are pointed upward as his feet rest by either side of Harry, the boy seeming to be shifting around slightly and giggling.

Harry shifts his gaze a bit to the right and out the window, only to see that the sun still hasn’t begun to go down yet, which is good, even though it still feels like they’ve been on this thing for way too long.

“You’re up,” Louis says, his voice quieted for whatever reason.

“I am,” Harry replies, tilting his chin up in order to focus on the glorious boy above him.  “Two questions.  One, are we close to wherever we’re going, and two, why are you laughing so cutely?”

Louis sweetly holds Harry’s face in his hands as he bring his own face down closer to him, his nose wrinkling with the formation of his grin.  “One, no, because we have to make a stop.  And two, I’m excited because I’m gonna show you something.”

Harry releases a hearty sigh once Louis’ letting go of his face and he’s left looking forward again, thoroughly vexed about why it’s taking so long for him to either get a picture with Mickey Mouse or take one of those cliché pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower.

His voice is definitely that of a whine when he huffs some more.  “ _Why_ do we have to make a stop—“

His complaint isn’t cut off because Louis says something to interrupt—it’s because of what Louis is suddenly holding out in front of him, close enough to his face for him to almost have to cross his eyes in order to understand what it is exactly.

It doesn’t take long for that to happen though, because once his eyes are settled upon the overtly shiny, twinkly silver thing, suspended in the air by the copper tongs that Louis is now holding, he can certainly comprehend what it is.

It’s a fucking ring.

And it looks like it’s worth even more than the other one that almost ruined their lives.

“What do you think you’re looking at?” Louis asks, Harry hearing the contained giddiness against his ear as Louis leans down closer to him.

“I’m looking at a piece of jewelry that’s going to trigger me forever now,” Harry replies matter-of-factly, simply blinking at it with no discernible facial expression as the pretty thing rotates by the tongs it’s being held by.

Louis’ bursting into feathery giggles where he remains by Harry’s ear, Harry briefly wrinkling his nose at the boy above him to show that he isn’t pleased about his continuous giggling without letting Harry know exactly where this is going.

“Well…true,” Louis begins, nudging his head against Harry’s for a moment in order to alleviate his dissatisfaction.  “But it’s also the first ring from my new collection!”

Harry’s eyes are suddenly a tad wider now, although still having nowhere else to look besides at the ring that constantly dangles its mesmerizing diamonds in front of him.

“Collection?”

“Yeah.  From my new ring line!  Remember?”

“Wait.”  Harry knits his eyebrows together as he’s now giving into his need to look at Louis directly, shifting where he lies in order to bring himself up and face the boy behind him, one of his palms burying itself into the seat cushion.  “When you said you were starting a ring line, I thought you were joking.”  All he gets in response is the biggest grin of all from the boy in front of him.  “There’s gonna be so much backlash and hate from the press—“

“Who cares?” Louis asks, shrugging and not allowing the glimmer in his eyes to dim out even halfway.  He brings the ring in front of Harry’s face again, Harry not even being able to help the way his eyes fall right back to focus on it.  “Do _you_ like it?”

“Well…yeah, but—“

Louis brings his other hand up to settle upon the bottom of Harry’s cheek, embracing him gently and successfully getting Harry’s uncertain gaze to once again meet his.  “Then that’s all that matters, love.”

It comes quite naturally, the way his cheek sinks into Louis’ hold and his gaze drowns itself into the loving one across from him, and he guesses there truly isn’t anything else that matters. 

Harry knows the eventual media backlash most certainly _will_ get to him, even if only a bit, but it’s good to know Louis’ working towards drowning them out.

“That, and the fact that I like it too, of course,” Louis says with a small laugh, bringing the ring up to his eyes and proceeding to rotate it around some more and inspect it closely.

“So…you made it yourself?” Harry asks, leaning forward on his palm and observing it just as fascinatingly as Louis.

“Nope!” Louis replies, moving to gently set the ring back into the tiny velvet box that’s sitting on the seat next to him. “I _did_ buy this box though.   And I told them what diamonds looked pretty.”

“Of course you did,” Harry replies, leaning closer as his dimple shows up on the side of his cheek.  “Just another thing to add to the list of a bunch of miscellaneous shit you do, huh?”

“I believe so, yeah,” Louis replies, his voice low as he presses his forehead against Harry’s childishly.  “I wanna try acting next.”

“Well, I’ll definitely just keep my opinions to myself on that one, princess.”

It isn’t a shock when a dramatic gasp is coming from Louis’ mouth, followed by a shove at Harry’s chest that only results in Harry grabbing a hold of his arms and cradling the boy against himself no matter how much Louis barely attempts to shove him some more and claim that he’s supposed to tell him he’s good at everything.

“Maybe if we actually land somewhere for once, I won’t be so irritable, and I’d actually consider happily nodding my head at every idea you have,” Harry laughs, Louis now pressing gentle kisses and bites against his neck.

Louis’ head is suddenly flying up from Harry’s shoulder, the boy shifting in the seat and preparing to get himself up.  “That reminds me.  We have to make a stop soon.”  He’s getting to his feet and standing in the aisle as Harry is starting back up his stubborn moaning and sighing.

“Ugh,” Harry groans, turning around to slump his back against the seat.

“ _Hey_ ,” Louis hisses, leaning down in order to press a quick kiss into Harry’s hair, before skipping backwards and seemingly heading for the very front where the people that work on this thing reside.  “Don’t make me turn this jet around!” he yells probably over his shoulder, voice distant.

Harry still groans one more time for good measure because Louis can’t hear him, and he decides on reclining on his side in order to rest his eyes some more since it’s obvious they aren’t going anywhere worthwhile anytime soon. 

Well, that is, until they appear to be landing after only five more minutes go by, and Harry can’t help but open his eyes and let his vague curiousity take over. 

He still has his head rested upon the comfort of his arms once he’s putting in minimal effort to shift his gaze toward the window, but there isn’t much to see in order for him to make sense of where they are.

All there seems to be is a parking lot.  A vast, almost empty parking lot.

Harry gradually gives into his intrigue, bringing himself to an upward position and chewing on his bottom lip upon the budding feeling of…familiarity he’s getting from this place.

He knows this parking lot.

And all it takes is a whip of his head in order to look at another window, next to the seats across the aisle from him, to know exactly where he is.

They’re at that fucking rich people mall.

Why the _fuck_ are they at the fucking rich people mall?

This is a place that Harry would be _extremely_ pleased to never have to experience being in again.  He got into a screaming match with Louis here, Louis got fucking chipped by some kidnappers here, they got publicly _cuffed_ and thrown into the back of _cop cars_ here. 

He figures Louis must not be done offering his apologies and trying to improve their attitude towards him by giving them gifts or whatever, but seriously, Harry has told him several times before— _fuck_ that jewelry store.  They’ve already turned themselves in, apologized, and accepted the consequences, and they literally don’t owe them anything else.

Harry genuinely can’t believe the boy just got his private jet to land right in the middle of the parking lot.  He guesses the boy probably called ahead of time while Harry was sleeping in order to let them know he'd need most of the area to be cleared.

Jesus.  His reason for stopping here better be good.  Because as Harry folds his arms over himself, slumping profusely against the seat and already starting to hear the muffled murmuring of people probably taking notice of the huge freaking private jet, he’s quickly growing pissed.

Louis obviously has already gotten off of this thing in order to enter the mall and do whatever it is he came here to do, and he’s a smart one, already knowing to leave Harry behind without even having to ask him.  Harry has expressed his growing hatred for this place more times than he can count.

So Harry just sits.  And waits.

And at some point, he can faintly hear what sounds like pebbles being thrown at the window near him, probably from someone down below desperately trying to get a reaction.

He just sinks further into the seat and digs his fingers into his arms.

It’s after a while when Harry hears something that actually brings him to sit up straighter rather than lower himself into oblivion, and it’s the soft sound of feet slowly moving down the aisle in order to approach him.  He immediately knows it’s Louis, and he’s immediately already sitting all the way up and turning his head around to catch the boy’s eye, because the boy only makes silent, sweet arrivals like this on special occasion.

“Look,” Louis says, stopping once he’s stood in front of Harry, voice breathless and enchanted.

And.  Harry would’ve looked whether or not Louis told him to, because it’s hard not to be instantly drawn to the two pendants that Louis’ holding up in either hand, the absolutely lustrous things dangling from his grip, and just as breathtaking and awe-inspiring as the first time Harry had laid eyes on them.

Harry had honestly forgotten about these.  How did he forget about these?

“You didn’t think I was actually just going to leave them there, did you?” Louis asks, the _L_ hanging at the end of one of them sparkling in a surreal fashion whilst it rotates.

 

~*~

 

Life for Harry is quite hectic now, but it’s blissful all the same.

It’s like he’s right back where he was a while ago, glued to Louis’ hip, madly in love with him, and doing whatever he can to be with him, except now it’s happening in a different universe, where Harry doesn’t have to hide away with him anymore and people actually know his name and Harry actually _goes_ to famous people stuff with him.

It’s quite a change, but Harry honestly doesn’t think their relationship could’ve worked without it.  That was why they’d always had so much unsettled friction at the start of their ridiculously rocky relationship, it was why Harry couldn’t help but grow frustrated at the fact that at the end of the day, Louis had a professional image that he constantly had to work in order to maintain, and that Harry’s lack of involvement in that part of his life proved an inevitable demise in their relationship.

Of course, the boy also broke his heart devastatingly by betraying his trust in the past.  And that caused quite a bump in things.

 _But_ Harry’s not going to dwell on that anymore.  Not when Louis clearly isn’t the same person.  Not when he’s quite literally and dramatically shown in these recent months that he truly doesn’t want to lose Harry, and desires no one else on this earth besides him.  He’s gotten Harry to actually believe him, and that’s definitely a milestone.

So that’s why Harry’s here, comfortable in their penthouse during the beginning hours of the night, only the soft blue lights of the tree floor lamp nearby casting dark colors upon the side of his face.

He feels very tranquil, with his squished cheek rested against the counter as he sits upon the high bar stool by the kitchen, quiet, collected, and void of any tension.

This finally feels like home again.  And he never thought he’d be saying that.

He can only hear Louis moving around in their bedroom occasionally, which causes a teeny grin to form upon one side of Harry’s mouth as he maintains a sideways view of every dark figure in the penthouse, his hand reaching forth on the counter to pick at the long, stringy parts of the flowers strewn over the surface just a few feet away from his face.  The flowers are absolutely terrifying in the almost-darkness, more so than they already are in broad daylight, but he and Louis have decided to keep them here, because they were sent to them weeks ago by Zayn and Niall, to wish Louis luck on the launch party for his new diamond ring collection.  Of course, with Zayn having anything to do with it, there was no way on earth they would just get regular, _decent_ looking flowers.  Where does one even get a freaking black bat flower anyway?  Only Zayn would know.

It makes Harry really happy though, looking at it, and remembering the card that’d been initially attached to it (he has no idea where it’s gone now) and just knowing they’re still together.  It’s been months, and they’re still together, despite Zayn’s previous vehement claim that he keeps his relationships short and changing.  Zayn may not want to accept it yet, but he’s definitely in love with Niall and doesn’t have any interest in seriously going after anyone else.  He only has fleeting infatuations with all things different and new, but obviously, he hasn’t found anything interesting enough to leave Niall in a really long time.

He hopes the best for them.  If he and Louis can work their shit out, Zayn and Niall certainly can too.

It’s just as Harry’s bringing his hand back toward himself, caressing the pendant hanging around his neck between his fingers and bringing it up to his lips in order to press a kiss against the _L_ , their bedroom door is opening, and of course, in comes the hurried ruckus of Louis talking on the phone with whoever’s supposed to be chauffeuring him, all while hopping one foot in order to pull his shoe on at the same time.

Harry sits up from where he’d been resting, socked feet only swinging slightly as his stool rotates a bit.

Louis is dressed beautifully in order to attend one of the thousands of endless events dedicated to him, and even as he’s still talking away with the phone pressed against his shoulder and his hands straightening out his cuffs, he’s making his way towards Harry, almost unconsciously.

“Five minutes, got ya,” Louis’ saying at some point, now standing in front of Harry and bringing one of his hands to wander through the boy’s unkempt strands.  Harry’s already sinking into his touch as the boy is finally hanging up, and he’s wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist and joining his hands in order to lock him in, simply using his nose in order to fully soak in the smell of the boy’s citrusy cologne.

“So you’ve just been sitting here in the dark again,” Louis begins, a giggle in his voice.  “Silent and thoughtful as usual?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies quietly, his eyes falling closed as he holds Louis to himself.

“What are you thinking ‘bout, babe?”

“Everything,” Harry mumbles against the slippery material where is lips remain buried.  He barely allows his eyes to open to slits, finding his gaze now cast upon the shadowed figure of one of his shoes strewn over the floor, right upon the threshold toward the living room.

“Everything, huh?” Louis asks, roughing up his hair as Harry finally shifts his focus in order to press his chin against the boy’s chest and look up at him endearingly. 

Harry offers him a single nod in response, his eyes only briefly flittering toward the _H_ that hangs from the boy’s neck, partially hidden under his collar.  “Mostly sweet, icky stuff.  Nothing you haven’t heard from me already.”

“You sure?” Louis asks, fingertips smoothing down the side of his face and finding their way towards his chin, tilting his gaze up just a bit more.  “We can sit here and talk for a bit, if you want.”

“No, I’ll wait ‘til you get back,” Harry replies softly, lips moving to barely press against the boy’s fingers.  “I’ll have all the time in the world to talk your ear off.”

Louis’ head is drifting down within close range of Harry’s, noses teasing at each other and Harry overcome with the warmth the boy always brings when he’s so near and affectionate.  “And I can’t wait,” he whispers, his lips coming down to Harry’s and allowing them to kiss languidly, without rush as though Louis doesn’t have anywhere to be in five minutes.

Louis gives him one last peck before he’s tenderly pinching Harry’s cheek and finally taking two steps backward, and his eyes are still holding that familiar shimmer, but suddenly there’s something just a bit irresolute being contained behind them.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” Louis asks, joining his hands behind himself.

Harry shakes his head vigorously as he’s smoothing his hands down the cotton of his pants, being fully genuine about his answer.  “No—no, I’m…I’ll sit this one out.  I don’t want this to turn into another thing for everyone to watch closely because of our relationship, and stuff.  It’s about you.”

Louis’ just quiet and understanding for a moment, and the silence shared between them is far from tense, almost bordering on relaxing.

“Well, you do know everything that’s about me, is automatically about you as well, right?” Louis asks softly, lips curving up on one side as Harry’s eyes come back up to him.  Louis gestures between them as he now wears his smug grin.  “We’re kind of a package deal like that.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Harry says, toying with his sleeves and not even knowing why a subtle shyness is poking at him.  “Just go.  Have fun.  Bring me some of that huge shrimp if they serve any.”

“Trust me, there’s always huge shrimp,” Louis laughs, the toe of his shoe twisting against the ground as they share another easy silence.

And then Harry’s eyes are staring into his again, and there’s still a whispered sense of…something. Something that's clearly lingering inside Louis.

“And I…” Louis begins, now looking down at his restless foot as he speaks.  “I won’t drink anything or…like, I’ll be responsible—I just don’t want you to worry that I’m like…I won’t—“

“Louis,” Harry says, the low volume and demanding nature of his voice rapidly beckoning Louis’ hesitant gaze right into his.

There’s a moment where they’re just holding kind eyes with each other, Harry attempting to keep his gaze calm and reassuring, and Louis wearing the eyes of a person who’s desperate and eager to be complaisant.

“I trust you.”

It’s as though a weight is lifted off of Louis’ shoulders with the release of Harry’s words into the air, because suddenly that uncertain flame in his eye is gone, and his shoulders are more relaxed, and his shy giggle is something that Harry wishes he could bottle up in a jar.

“I love you,” Harry adds, grin creeping back onto his lips as Louis appears to be growing even more reddened.

“I love you too,” Louis replies.

And then his feet are moving backwards, and after a series of probably a dozen more hurried, fond goodbyes, Harry’s left with the penthouse they both share as a safe haven.

And it feels like a new beginning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡ thank u so much for reading this fic! really hope u enjoyed the story and the songs uwu ♡


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